


Untangled

by Anathema Device (notowned)



Series: Tied up in knots [2]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, seriously this is very smutty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-28 20:41:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7655941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notowned/pseuds/Anathema%20Device
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>New life, new job, new lovers. Athos looks to have it all at last. But the fallout from the deaths of his brother and his wife isn't over, and he discovers the facts he thought he knew about that tragedy, are not true at all. </p><p>Takes place immediately after the end of the previous story in the series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Commandant Treville completed the round of introductions to his people, before turning to an utterly gorgeous young man, and saying, “And this is Lieutenant Charles d’Artagnan, Athos. D’Artagnan, I told you about Captain de la Fère.”

“Nice to meet you, sir.”

Athos took the offered hand rather dazedly. “Call me Athos.” _My God, is Treville recruiting from Vogue now?_

“Everyone calls me d’Artagnan, or ‘hey you’.” D’Artagnan grinned, and Athos felt his knees go weak.

Aramis stepped forward, holding out his hand. “I’m Aramis d’Herblay, also from Montpellier.”

D’Artagnan shook his hand. “Are you joining us too, Captain d’Herblay?”

“Aramis, please. And I’m considering it.”

Treville smiled at his words. “Where’s your better half, d’Artagnan?”

“Oh, she’s—”

“Athos!”

Athos spun around. _Who?_ A flame-haired woman came around the corner, and he tried to place where he knew her from. “Constance?”

She beamed. “You remember me!”

“How the hell could I forget?” She came over and Athos kissed her on both cheeks, before she hugged him. “When did you join the force?”

“After my marriage broke down, nearly seven years ago. Or rather, I should say it broke down when I joined. The look on your face, Athos, it’s priceless. Charles, this is Athos de la Fère. Athos, you were still a lieutenant when I saw you last.”

“And you worked in a haberdashery.” He stepped back to regard her. “You look beautiful. And you’re already a captain?”

“Yep. Two months ago. You’ve met d’Artagnan? We married last year.”

“Hang on, _you’re_ Captain Bonacieux? You were Constance Fournier...wait, don’t tell me you married that horrible little man after all?”

She smiled ruefully. “Sadly, yes.”

D’Artagnan came to her side. “How do you two know each other?” There was no outright jealousy in his tone, but an expectation that Athos would explain himself or die was certainly hinted at.

“We met on holiday when...God, it’s eight years ago, isn’t it?”

She nodded. “Yes, in Nice. I was trying to decide whether to keep my engagement with Jacques, and you were this dashing young police officer. Swept me right off my feet.”

“For a whole two weeks. Then you went back to Paris and I went back to work. Damn, I knew I should have worked harder to find you again.”

She laughed. “Never mind. You’re here now.”

Treville frowned at her. “You didn’t think to tell me you knew him when I was talking about a room for him, Constance?”

“Well, I wasn’t sure it was him, or that he’d remember me.”

“As a matter of interest, how many Athos de la Fères do you know?” Aramis said, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

Constance’s cheeks dimpled. “Oh, dozens.” She was so lovely, even more than the rather naïve, polite young girl Athos had met all those years ago.

“I’m Aramis, by the way. Athos’s best friend. One of them anyway.” Aramis gave her his patented stare, which earned him a sharp look from d’Artagnan, but bounced right off Constance.

She shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, Aramis.”

Treville cleared his throat. “Well, since we all know each other, and Athos has agreed he’s coming to work with us, Constance, how about you join us for lunch?”

“And me, sir?” D’Artagnan asked.

“The Faure case, lieutenant? I believe there’s a report due on my desk at two o’clock.”

D’Artagnan flushed. “Oh, right. So, no lunch. See you later then,” he said to Constance, kissing her cheek, before scurrying back to his desk. Athos smiled to himself. Treville hadn’t changed at all when it came to handling bumptious young cops.

**********

“So, you feel better about this now?” Aramis asked as he and Athos walked back to the car.

“Yes, I really do. But I wouldn’t be doing this if you hadn’t kicked my butt into gear. So thank you. Thank you both.”

Aramis glanced at him. “You’re welcome, darling. Now it’s all up to you. We’ll be there, watching, worrying, but only you can do this.”

“I know.”

Athos convinced Porthos to cancel the leave he’d planned to take, because Athos needed to pack up his flat, and put the stuff he didn’t need into storage. The house in which Anne and Thomas had died, still sat empty. Maybe now he could finally make himself sell it, or at least rent it out. Sell it, he thought. New beginnings and all that.

He’d arranged to drive back to Marseille on Sunday morning, in time to have lunch with Constance and d’Artagnan, and unpack. Fear and uncertainty seized him again as he said goodbye to Aramis and Porthos on the pavement, before getting into his car. Aramis tugged at Athos’s ear. “Hey, nasty thoughts begone, okay?”

“It's just...I’ll miss you.”

Porthos hugged him. “And we’ll miss you. But you’re coming back within a month for the weekend or I’m driving down myself to haul you back, naked and stuffed with a butt plug all the way here.”

Athos smirked. “Is that supposed to be a threat? It sounds more like an incentive.”

“Get going, you prat. Give my love to Treville.”

Athos took a hand from each of them. “You are dearer to me than even my brother was. Feel free to remind me with a boot to the head if I forget.”

“Anytime. Drive safely, _chéri_ ,” Aramis said. “Go, before Porthos gets all weepy.”

Constance owned a house in St Jérôme that had been split into two apartments, one a studio for a former owner’s elderly parent, and the main residence upstairs. Crucially, it had a garage, and she’d agreed to let space in that to him as well. For the rent he'd be paying, Athos wouldn't even get a furnished studio without parking closer to the Hôtel de Police, so he considered it an excellent deal. And, as Treville and Aramis had both emphasised, it wouldn’t be good for him to be alone right now. The part of his soul that craved the solitude to suffer in privacy was overruled by the part of his brain that realised that he was likely to use that privacy just now to crawl back inside a bottle.

He called as he drew near the address, and d’Artagnan was waiting for him as he pulled up. D’Artagnan directed him into the garage, which also held a Ducati motorbike. Athos wondered which one of them rode it, or if they both did. “Welcome,” d’Artagnan said, shaking his hand. “Easy drive?”

“No trouble at all.”

“You didn’t bring much.”

“I don’t need much.” He didn’t explain that his best furniture was still in the house along with the inherited artwork. Everything else was in storage.

“Let’s get you inside. Constance is so excited about you coming to live with us.”

Athos put his hand on d’Artagnan’s arm. “I feel I should point out that whatever there was between us, was a very long time ago, and was only a holiday fling.”

D’Artagnan gave Athos a brilliant smile. “That’s completely fine, Athos. My only concern was whether you were connected to her bastard of a husband. He used to hit her, you know.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah. Getting her away from him was a major undertaking. But you, I have no problem with. She likes you, and so shall I. Your place is through here.”

The studio was small but freshly decorated, with a new sofa bed, and a newly renovated kitchenette and bathroom. “We spent a bit doing it up, because if we found a tenant we liked, we wanted them to stay. Did Constance mention this?”

‘This’ turned out to be an outdoor swimming pool. “My God. How did you afford this place?” Athos asked.

“With difficulty, hence the need to rent out the studio. But the pool is great in summer. Do you want to unpack before lunch?”

“Let me hang up my suits and shirts, then I’ll leave the rest.”

D’Artagnan gave him a hand with that, then took him via the garden to the stairs to their place on the first floor. “Athos,” Constance said, smiling in welcome. She hugged him. “I’m so glad you’re going to be living here. Come, sit down.”

Moving to a new place could have been stressful—it _was_ stressful, Athos had to admit. But within a minute of walking into Constance and d’Artagnan’s place, Athos felt as if he’d lived there for ages. Not just because he knew Constance—not that he could really say that, because she had blossomed into such a confident, sparky woman—but also because d’Artagnan welcomed him so warmly. It helped they were all cops, but he’d been around cops who didn’t make him this at ease. _This might really work._

 _D’Artagnan_ was their cook, Constance explained. “Jacques insisted on me doing all the housework as well as running the shop. When we got together, I put my foot down. No more meals.”

“I cook,” Athos said. “I mean, if you’d ever like that.”

D’Artagnan grinned. “Hell, yeah. Any time, bro. Gives me more time with my lady here.” He snuggled up to her on the couch, only to get a pretty solid punch on the shoulder from his beloved. “Ow. What I do?”

“No performative affection, Charles. I’ve told you.”

“Sorry.” He gave her a sweet kiss on the cheek, then turned to Athos. “Sorry.”

“I don’t mind. I’m friends with the two most affectionate blokes in the universe. They would never hold back in front of me.” That was putting it mildly, of course.

“Aramis and Porthos?” Constance asked. “I’d love to meet Porthos. Aramis is such a love, and his partner sounds gorgeous.”

“He is. They both are,” Athos said, thinking wistfully of the night before.

She reached over and patted his hand. “You’ll miss them.”

“Yes. I literally owe them my life, and being here.”

“I promised Aramis we’d look after you, Athos, and I mean it. So, while you have your own space, and you can have privacy whenever you want, I expect you to take full advantage of us being up here. Eat with us, watch TV, come and talk, sleep with us...oops, did I say that out loud?” She grinned at him.

“Too soon, love,” d’Artagnan said, also smiling, and not at all put out by Constance’s outrageous suggestion.

“Perhaps not _right_ away,” Athos said, feeling a little warm under the collar. “You’re both very kind.”

“With all I’ve heard about Marcheaux, I think you could do with some kindness,” she said. “He’s getting a real reputation, and it’s not a good one. Thank God Treville brought you down here. Now Charles will have a decent mentor.”

“Hey, you’ve been great,” her loyal husband protested.

“Yes, but I’m nothing like as experienced as Athos. And he’s a good man. Kind,” she said, giving Athos a look that reminded him of all the ways he’d enjoyed being nice to her.

“Only in bed,” he said, which made d’Artagnan flush and laugh at the same time. “I’m a bastard to young cops.”

“Treat him badly, then make it up to him. It works for me,” Constance said, the dimples appearing again.

“I’m right here, guys.”

She patted his arm. “I know, darling. We’re only serious.” Which made him laugh again.

When Athos went downstairs to unpack before supper, he texted Aramis. _Here safe. I think it’ll work. Thank you. <3_

_I didn’t know you knew any emoticons_

_I learned that one for you two_

_< 3 <3 <3 <3 _

**********

Marseille was known as a tough gig. A large immigrant population—Athos’s new home was right in the middle of the vibrant, economically disadvantaged community—with a massive divide between rich and poor, the threat of right wing extremist push back against the growth of multiculturalism, along with the criminality and drug trafficking that being a significant port and attracting a large number of tourists brought with it, kept the police worked off their feet.

After everything Athos had been through, it was just what he needed. The presence of Treville, the _absence_ of Marcheaux, made a marked improvement in his life without all the other good things the move had given him.

One of which was Constance, and the other was her too-attractive, too-flirty, and entirely too-sharp-for-his-own-good husband. D’Artagnan was a good cop, potentially one of the best Athos had ever worked with. He observed well, he made smart deductions and his instincts were top drawer. He’d make captain soon, if he lived that long. Because with all his good characteristics, he was also bloody impulsive. He’d hare off on leads on his own, which was incredibly stupid even if they usually led to good evidence or the perpetrator themselves. He deliberately provoked witnesses to see their reaction, which led to him nursing a black eye in Athos’s first week working with him. And he had an absolute talent for pissing off crime lords and their bodyguards that bordered on the suicidal. After Athos had to rescue him from a beating, and the two of them barely escaped with their lives, he sat glaring at the man as he was patched up at the hospital.

“Did that achieve anything? I mean, aside from pain?”

D’Artagnan grinned. “We know Belgard and his son is behind that prostitution ring.”

“We could have learned that without provoking an attack which nearly killed both of us.”

“It could have taken months, Athos. Now they’re under arrest. How many girls have we saved?”

“Seriously? Probably none.” Athos sighed. That was d’Artagnan’s other big failing—idealism. “Another crim will take over his patch and the same shit will be operating the same way in a month.”

“Then we’ll take him down. We can’t take that attitude or we’d never get out of bed in the morning.”

Which was true, but didn’t save Athos from a proper dressing down from d’Artagnan’s missus when they returned to the station. “You’re supposed to be acting as a moderating influence,” she muttered at him as she looked at her battered husband.

“It’s like trying to moderate a hurricane, Constance.”

“Right here, guys,” d’Artagnan said, wincing as Constance poked another sore spot. He batted away her hand. “Stop it.”

“You stop it. Damn it, I thought you’d be safer with Athos.”

“He is,” Athos said. “But short of surgically removing his thrill-seeking gland, I don’t know what else I can do.”

“Still right here, guys.”

“Not for much longer,” Athos muttered.

D’Artagnan was right of course. They had cracked the Belgard case much faster because of the confrontation. But it wasn’t the safest way, or the sensible one. “I don’t remember you being such a hothead,” Treville remarked as Athos presented the report for the judge.

Athos refused to lay the blame where it belonged, because he was d’Artagnan’s senior and should have stopped him. Possibly by shooting him, he thought. “I’ll work on that, sir.” He kept his expression carefully uninformative.

Treville regarded him with one of his steady stares. “Work on _him_ , Athos. It’s what I brought you down here for. How are you settling in at Constance’s place?”

“Very well, sir. I’ve been made very welcome.”

“Good. Now let’s see if we can keep d’Artagnan from killing himself in the next six months. It’ll be good for morale.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Dismissed.”

Irritating and at times, genuinely worrying, though d’Artagnan’s behaviour was at times, Athos had to admit the young man made him feel alive, like the cop he was at d’Artagnan’s age, and not the middle-aged wreck he’d come to see himself as since the deaths.

That was starting to become a bit of a problem though. “I think I’m falling for the silly bugger,” he admitted to Aramis and Porthos as they lay in bed together, having exhausted themselves with a day of inventive and rather gymnastic lovemaking. It was Athos’s first weekend back with them and they admitted they’d been suffering withdrawal symptoms as much as he had.

Porthos stroked his chest. “Only a problem if you act on it.”

“That _is_ the problem. I’m getting signals from both of them that they might enjoy....”

“Something like us?” Aramis asked.

“Yes. I don’t know. I’d hate to fuck up a good working relationship and friendship by introducing sex into the mix.” He slapped Aramis on the arm. “Stop laughing, you.”

“Sorry, _chéri_ , but...well, it can be done.”

“ _Obviously_. But I’ve known you for nearly twenty years. It’s different.”

“Let them come to you. You want them to, right?”

“Yes. You saw the two of them, didn’t you?”

“Oh, yes,” Aramis said, admiration in his voice. “Either one would be amazing. Together...I admire your restraint, darling.”

“Think I need to pay a visit to Marseille,” Porthos muttered. “I’m missing out.”

“Don’t expect to stay with me, sadly. But there are hotels. I’ll pay.”

Porthos grinned at him. “You sure will, _monsieur le comte._ ”

Athos and Aramis both jumped on him for that comment, and after they had done with him, Athos suspected that had been Porthos’s intention all along.

The delicious idea of a threesome sat at the back of Athos’s mind as he drove back to Marseille on Sunday afternoon, but sated and relaxed after his time back in Montpellier with his dearest friends, it wasn’t the most important thing concerning him. D’Artagnan was keen to try a new Moroccan recipe, and Athos acted as kitchen hand, as much in synch with d’Artagnan as they were becoming at work. Athos had to admit that, though he disliked d’Artagnan’s propensity for ending up in fights with criminals, he was a joy to fight alongside. One might even call it addictively enjoyable. Perhaps Treville had reason to be worried about the two of them.

“Try this,” d’Artagnan said, lifting a piece of the goat tangine to Athos’s lips. D’Artagnan watched Athos eat, then lick his lips, with an intensity that made heat pool in Athos’s groin. “Good?”

“You know it is.”

D’Artagnan laughed. “Always looking for affirmation, though. Constance? Are you ready to eat?”

They ate on the terrace, the night clear albeit chilly, but with layers on, perfectly comfortable. “I’m thinking of buying a barbecue,” d’Artagnan said.

“Ugh, too American,” Constance said.

“I don’t have to _cook_ American,” d’Artagnan said. “Athos, back me up.”

“There’s very little I won’t put in my mouth at least once.” Athos grinned as d’Artagnan choked on his wine.

Constance winked. “God, I love a man with a filthy mind.” Athos wasn’t sure which of them she was talking about.

He stumbled downstairs after supper and coffee, pleasantly relaxed from the food, the wine, the company, and the fantastic sex earlier in the weekend. He pulled a shirt out of the dryer to iron, and then had a shower, deciding he would shave that night to save time in the morning.

He picked up the shaving foam and looked in the mirror. He dropped the can in the sink. Anne was behind him.

He turned. Her misty features were the same as before, just as clear. “Leave me alone,” he muttered. “You’re dead. Go to hell.”

She disappeared. He picked up the can with shaking fingers. This last month had been good, and not seeing her ghost had been part of that. But the months before, where she would turn up randomly, behind people fleetingly, in his mirror, at night as he prepared for bed, had been hellish. He couldn’t go through that again.

She reappeared at beside the bed as he lay down, a faintly glowing shape in the dark. He closed his eyes. _No. Not going back. I didn’t kill her._ “Go haunt someone else,” he told her.

But she watched him clean his teeth the next morning, and stood behind Treville at the briefing. She startled him when he and d’Artagnan got into the car to drive to La Pomme, and again in the loo back at the station. By the afternoon, d’Artagnan was giving him worried looks, and when Athos jumped for the third time when d’Artagnan put his hand on his shoulder, d’Artagnan had had enough.

“Athos, what the fuck is wrong with you today?”

“Nothing. A headache, that’s all. I might be coming down with a cold.”

“A cold.”

“Yes, you’ve heard of them, haven’t you, lieutenant?” Athos looked at his watch. There was an hour left on his shift, but since the headache he’d pleaded was real, he decided to skive off. “I’ll see you back at the house,” he said. “Though I think I’ll take it easy this evening.”

“Sure. Are you okay? Do you want us to get you something?”

“No. Just need to lie down.” _And keep my eyes closed so I can’t see her any more_.

The problem with doing that was that Anne then infested his dreams instead of his line of sight. Athos had grown wearily familiar with his subconscious reinventing all the horrible ways Thomas could have died at her hands, and worse were the one where Anne died at _Thomas’s_ hands, and Athos somehow ending up shooting his own brother.

He woke exhausted and ratty and far too early. He contemplated taking sick leave, but instead, went to work ahead of d’Artagnan and Constance, taking refuge in the canteen and cups of tea. Coffee gave him heartburn after nights like that.

He managed to pull himself together by the time d’Artagnan arrived, but Athos’s curt replies to his partner’s questions about the morning activities led to d’Artagnan muttering and stalking off with paperwork rather than sit and put up with the rudeness. Athos wanted to apologise, but couldn’t swear he wouldn’t do it again. He put his head on his desk and wished he had a bottle of Scotch to drown in.

“Athos, my office.”

 _Brilliant_. Treville would no doubt tear a strip off him for his attitude. Athos wandered in, resigned to being told off. “Are you all right, Athos?”

“Yes, sir.”

Treville frowned. “Are you sure? You look...disconnected.”

“I’m connected, sir. Right into the grid, as always.”

“Right. I called you in because I’ve just had a call from Aramis.”

“Aramis? Why would—” He bit off the question. “What did he say?”

“He wanted you to know some news, and wanted you not to be alone when you received it. Catherine de Granville was found dead this morning.”

“Catherine? Oh no.” Athos hadn’t seen his brother’s fiancé since the funeral. “Found...murdered?”

“No, suicide, they’re pretty sure. Aramis and Porthos have been assigned to gather evidence.”

“Right. Yes, of course.”

“This is of course, awful news for you. You’re perfectly entitled to take a day or two’s leave if you want. She was practically family.”

“Yes.” _God, Catherine dead?_ “How did she die?”

“Gunshot. Self-inflicted. They think she died Sunday evening, based on when she was last seen, and the state of the body.”

“S-Sunday? Sunday night?”

“Yes? Is that significant?”

“No...no, sir. Sorry, it’s just a shock. I think I might go home for the rest of the day, if you can spare me.”

Treville waved. “Yes, of course. I’m sorry, Athos. The ripples from this go on and on, don’t they?”

 _You have no idea._ “Yes, they do.”

“Then go home and take it easy. And...try not to use booze to deal with it, okay?”

“I won’t. Thank you.”

Athos walked out and ran straight into Constance. “There you are. What have you said to d’Artagnan?”

“I was...rude. Can you tell him I said sorry for being an arse? I’m on my way home just now.”

She took his arm and peered at him in concern. “Are you all right?”

“I just learned my brother’s fiancé killed herself on the weekend.”

“Athos! I’m so sorry.” She put her arms around him and he let himself fall into the generous embrace. “That’s awful. Will you be all right on your own?”

“Yes, I’m fine. I should go, get out of everyone’s hair. Tell Charles what I said. It’s all me, nothing he did.”

“Of course, dear. You let us look after you tonight, okay?”

“Okay.”

He texted Aramis as he walked to the house from the Métro, and Aramis called him back ten minutes later. “Hello, _chéri_. I’m sorry to have to give you such bad news.”

“Not your fault, and thank you for how you did it. Who found her?”

“Her mother, dropping in to spend a day with her. Poor woman is a wreck.”

“I bet. Aramis, is there any possibility it _wasn’t_ suicide?”

A pause. “There’s always a _possibility_ , Athos. But the probability is extreme low.”

“I understand.”

“Is there something you’re not telling me?”

 _My wife’s ghost has reappeared and I don’t think it’s coincidence._ “No. Just normal paranoia.”

“Right. Where are you?”

“On my way home. Treville gave me the day off.”

“Good for him. Take longer if you need it, come here if you want. Understand?”

“Yes, dear. Thank you.”

“We’ll be thinking of you. I’ll let you know if there’s anything you should know about the case.”

“Thanks.”

Anne’s ghost hovered beside him. “Go away,” he told her. It didn’t obey.

His good stationery was still in storage, so he'd bought a card and a stamp from a tabac near the station. He went out to the table by the pool to write to Catherine’s parents. He’d been spared this when Anne died, since her parents were dead. Or so she’d said—whether they really were or not, he didn’t know. Catherine’s parents had been very kind when Thomas died, almost as devastated as if they’d been his own parents. Thomas and Catherine had planned to marry just a month after his death. Catherine had broken down completely at the funeral, and Athos, buried in his own misery, hadn’t had the reserves to deal with her. Now he wished he’d made more of an effort, though whether he’d have made any difference, he had no idea.

Writing the note brought back his headache full force, bad enough that even the ghost didn’t bother him that much. He made it to a post box to send the letter, but then had to come back and lie down, arm over his eyes. He remembered Catherine when he’d first met her, while she and Thomas were studying law, and Athos had come up to Paris to go with them for a weekend party they’d been invited to. Catherine had formed quite the crush on Athos, and it had taken a bit of diplomatic negotiations to ease her away from him without offending her. She and Thomas had begun to live together after they graduated and had both been recruited by the same firm. Later they set up their own practice in Montpellier with the assistance of Athos and Thomas’s parents. The engagement was because they were now ready to have children, Thomas had told him. Now those children would never be.

A knock on the door startled him awake, and a glance at his watch told him he’d slept until five. “Come in, it’s not locked.”

It was Constance. “Athos, my dear.” She sat on the bed and hugged him when he sat up. “You look terrible.”

“I don’t feel great,” he admitted.

“Have you eaten at all today?” He shook his head. “Feel like coming upstairs? Coffee and cake? Charles is going to be an hour or so.”

“Not sure I do, Constance.” Lethargy tugged at him like he’d been awake for days. “I might just lie down again until he’s back. Or maybe stay down here and eat.”

“Do you have any food in the fridge?”

“I’ll find something.”

“Nonsense. I’ll bring a meal down for you later if you like. Why don’t you lie down again? I’ll keep you company.”

“Constance, you can’t. D’Artagnan—”

“Is fine with it. We’re old friends, Athos.” She stripped off her jacket and took off her shoes, before returning to the bed. “Lie down, love.”

He did what she asked, and she lay down next to him. She urged him to roll over and she moved up behind him, her hand on his shoulder. Athos felt guilty that it felt so good, that it did help, but not enough to make her leave. Her warmth and gentle comfort eased the tightness in his chest for the first time that day.

D’Artagnan found them like that when he came home. Athos came awake to find his partner kneeling at the end of the bed, smiling at the two of them, one hand on her ankle and one on Athos’s. “Hey. I’m so sorry about your brother’s fiancé.”

Athos rubbed his eyes. “Yeah, me too. I...she...uh.”

“It’s perfectly fine, Athos. Constance, love, wake up.”

She jerked awake. “Charles. Good heavens, I didn’t mean to fall asleep. Athos? Are you all right?”

“Better. Thank you.” He smiled at her. “Really. You helped.”

“Good. Charles, supper’s early tonight.”

He bowed. “Yes, _madame_.”

D’Artagnan went upstairs. Athos climbed off the bed, yawning. “There’s something else, isn’t there?” Constance said. “You went home early yesterday, and Charles said you were like a bear with a sore head all morning.”

Anne’s ghost stood by the bed, next to the living woman sitting on it. Athos tried to concentrate on Constance. “I can’t really talk about it.”

“Is there anyone you can talk about it to? Aramis?”

“I did...once. I thought the problem had gone away.”

Constance stood. The ghost moved out of her way as she went over and took Athos’s hand. “You know we won’t judge you, don’t you? Whatever you say in this house, stays in this house. And unless you’re a secret axe-murderer, I can’t think of anything you could say that would shock us.”

 _I’m falling in love with the two of you._ Athos wondered if that would shock her. “Can we talk about it upstairs?”

“Of course. Are you coming up now?” She kept hold of his hand and led him up the stairs. D’Artagnan was already frying onions. The smell made Athos’s stomach growl.

“Wine?” Constance asked.

“Ah...just water please.” Wine was too tempting tonight.

She poured him a glass full and set it on the counter. She opened a bottle of white wine for d’Artagnan and herself, then took her glass and sat at the counter to look at him sat on the armchair. “So, what do you want to talk about?”

“You are going to think I’m nuts.”

D’Artagnan looked up from his cooking. “You have to be crazy to do our job. Treville told us that on our first day.”

“Yeah but this is....” Athos took a deep breath. “How much do you know about what happened with my wife?”

Constance pursed her lips. “Not a lot. Just that she killed your brother and was shot in a shootout after the murder.”

“Yes. I was on the other side of the city, doing a stakeout. I heard about the SWAT team being called in over the radio, but I didn’t realise it was my house until...well, until Commandant Marcheaux called and pulled me off the stakeout.”

“Pretty crap way to lose anyone,” d’Artagnan said.

“The worst, probably. The judge investigating thought that Thomas, my brother, had discovered that Anne had lied about her past, had gone to the house to confront her, and that she’d killed him in a panic, then holed up in the house where the SWAT team shot her.”

Athos looked down at his glass of water. “The thing is, I’ve been seeing her on and off ever since. Her ghost, I mean.”

The room fell silent. This was where Constance’s tolerance met its limit, he was sure. “Look, I’ll just eat downstairs—”

“You bloody won’t, Athos.” He looked up and found Constance on her feet staring down at him. “You mean, she’s been haunting you? That’s appalling.”

“Uh...you don’t think it’s weird? Or that I’m crazy?”

“I know you’re not crazy. It might be odd, but that doesn’t mean it’s not happening. Come over to the couch. Sit with me.”

Reluctantly, he joined her where she sat down. She took his hand. “So, keep going. How does this relate to your brother’s fiancé?”

“Did Treville tell you why I came to Marseille?”

“He said you were having problems with Marcheaux. Which I thought was understandable, considering what I know about the man.”

“Understandable, but not the whole truth. I, uh, started drinking. A lot. Partly grief, partly to stop the haunting driving me crazy. That week before I came to see Treville, Anne’s ghost began to intrude into every waking minute right after the results of Judge Feron’s inquiry into Thomas and Anne’s death was released to my lawyers.” Constance nodded, so Athos ploughed on. “That weekend I went on a bender, turned up to work still drunk, so Marcheaux suspended me. Aramis and Porthos decided to intervene. I haven’t seen her ghost since.”

“Until?” D’Artagnan walked around the counter to stand before them.

“Sunday evening. And ever since. She’s right next to you.”

To his credit, d’Artagnan only glanced to his side. “Okay. So how do we help?”

“Wait. There’s more. Catherine’s body was only found this morning. But Aramis says the indications are she died on Sunday evening.”

“Holy shit.” D’Artagnan stared at him.

“Yes. I don’t know what it means, but it’s a hell of a coincidence.”

“Yes, it is.” Constance patted his hand. “You’re not crazy, Athos. But let’s eat before we talk about it more. Charles, where’s the bread?”

They ate in the living room, bowls on their knees. Constance stayed beside Athos all through the meal, and d’Artagnan sat opposite as if they did this every night. Athos was torn between gratitude at the physical comfort, and panic at the idea that things might be moving too fast. But then he’d look at d’Artagnan, relaxed and friendly, and Constance, concerned but in no way predatory, and he let himself go with the flow. No point in stressing about that when Anne was watching him from behind d’Artagnan’s head.

_What do you want of me?_

But she never spoke, and if she did, he wouldn't hear, most likely.

Over cheese and crackers, d’Artagnan came to sit on the other side of Athos. Anne stayed where she was. D’Artagnan saw Athos staring into apparent nothingness. “She’s still here, isn’t she?”

“Yes. She’s been behind you all the time. I wish I knew what the hell she wants. I thought ghosts were supposed to hang around where they died. She’s been following me like a stalker.”

“What was Thomas doing at your house, did you say?” Constance asked.

“Confronting her. So the judge believed.”

“And the gun?”

“Hers, we assume. Illegally obtained.”

“And what was her past?”

“Petty theft. A term in prison for grievous bodily harm during a robbery. I wouldn't have cared if I’d known.” He stared at Anne as he spoke. _I wouldn’t._

Constance frowned. “I wouldn’t turn up at someone’s house alone with that sort of information, to confront a woman with that record—unless I was trying to blackmail her. Or there was something else going on.”

Athos stared at her. _That_ was it. _That_ was what had been nagging him ever since he’d heard of the deaths. He glanced at Anne’s ghost, only to see it disappear as he watched. “She’s gone. She just disappeared.”

“I call that a significant hint, if not an outright clue,” Constance said, tapping her chin. “But what has Thomas’s fiancé’s death got to do with the death of Anne and Thomas?”

“Absolutely nothing. Anne shot Thomas. That’s indisputable.”

“Is it? There were eyewitnesses?”

Athos stood up and walked to the window. “What are you suggesting, Constance? Judge Feron was very thorough, and the case was pretty clear.”

“And yet we have only speculation about why Thomas was there, why she killed him, and no direct evidence she pulled the trigger.”

“Anne killed him. I know she killed him. Constance...this isn’t helping.” His headache was back. God, he wanted a fucking drink.

“I’m sorry. Please, Athos, come back over here. Don’t run away from those who care about you.”

He turned. “You don’t really know me. Either of you.”

“I knew and liked you eight years ago, and I know and like you now.”

“So do I,” d’Artagnan added.

Athos ran his hands through his hair. “I can’t ask a judge to reopen the case into Thomas’s death on the basis my dead wife is haunting me.”

“No,” Constance said. “You really can’t. But you can ask questions on the basis that there are a lot of suppositions. I’m surprised Judge Feron didn’t look at those.”

“Maybe he did. I don’t know. I only have the final results of his investigation.”

Constance held her hands out to him, inviting him to return to the sofa. When he did, she hugged him—and d’Artagnan did the same from behind. “It must hurt,” she murmured.

“It does. I thought I was getting better. I _was_ getting better. Then this.”

Constance lifted her head and kissed his cheek. Then his lips.

He pulled back. “Constance.”

“You’re not ready, I know. But sleep with us tonight? Just sleep, Athos. You shouldn’t be alone facing this.”

“I’m not facing anything. Catherine’s death—” His voice caught.

“Yes, exactly what I thought.” She pulled him close. “Sleep with us. The ghost can watch, if she insists.”

“This is a bad idea. We work together.”

She sighed. “As you wish. The door is open, love, and you are welcome tonight and any night. Charles? An early night, I think.” She kissed Athos’s cheek. “Sleep well, Athos.”

“Thank you. Thank you both.”

She smiled, and d’Artagnan nodded. Athos went downstairs, cursing his stupid brain and his cowardice. He went to the bathroom to clean his teeth. When he rinsed his mouth and stood up again, Anne watched him in the mirror.

“Jesus Christ! What the hell do you want of me, Anne? I did nothing to you. Leave me _alone_!”

The ghost disappeared, and Athos slumped against the sink. He couldn’t face this again. He would go truly insane, not just seeing ghosts type crazy. He looked in the mirror again. What would Aramis say?

What Aramis had already said, of course. _Either one would be amazing._

_Together?_

If it went badly, Athos supposed he could always move back to Montpellier. Or emigrate to Canada. Possibly Antarctica.

He went back upstairs—the door was unlocked, though he had a key. There was a light on in the bedroom. He came to the door, and found Constance and d’Artagnan were already in bed. She wore a negligee, but he was bare-chested. Athos felt overdressed in boxers and t-shirt.

“Um....”

Constance held out her hand. “Come here, love.” He lay down on the bed beside her, but then d’Artagnan stood, walked around the bed and climbed in beside Athos, so he was sandwiched between husband and wife. She smelled of ginger and cinnamon. He, of the spices from the meal, and faintly of his aftershave.

“Are you sure, Charles?” Athos asked.

“From almost the minute I met you, actually.” He kissed Athos on the forehead. “But you sleep now. We refuse to take advantage of your emotional state. This is for you, and only you.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” D’Artagnan reached over and touched Constance’s shoulder. “All right, my love?”

“This is fine. Goodnight, boys.”


	2. Chapter 2

So Athos slept, dreamlessly and without waking. He woke before his alarm would normally go off, but he was stuck fast between Constance and d’Artagnan. “Charles,” he whispered, nudging the man. “We need to get up.”

D’Artagnan sat up and wiped his face, instantly awake, though Constance remained asleep. “I’ll put the coffee on.”

“I need to get ready for work.”

“Of course. How do you feel?”

“Better. Thank you.” Hesitating a little, he cupped d’Artagnan’s cheek and kissed him on the lips. “This was kind of you both.”

“The very least we wanted to do for you, I assure you. Go on. Have breakfast with us.”

“Okay. I’ll be back soon.”

Anne’s ghost was still not around, which helped maintain Athos’s good mood. Constance, now dressed, smiled at him when he came back upstairs. Athos kissed her cheek. “Thank you, my dear.”

“You’re very welcome. You look so much better.”

“Yes. I am. Listen, what we spoke of last night, about Thomas and Anne...I need time to think about it.”

“Of course, love. I told you, what happens here, stays here. All of it.”

“Thank you.”

“Now, come and eat.”

They travelled together on the Métro. D’Artagnan was cheerful as ever, as affectionate as ever with Constance. But in his brown eyes there sparked something new—or perhaps something that had been there and Athos had assiduously ignored it—that regarded Athos with both affection and desire. Athos hoped his partner wouldn’t look at him like that at work. Not only would it broadcast what might be going to happen to a building full of nosy cops, but Athos would find it more than a little difficult to concentrate. Trying to decide where was the best place to throw your partner up against a wall and snog him senseless would definitely be a tad distracting.

Fortunately by the time they arrived at the _Hôtel de Police_ , d’Artagnan was in work mode, and Athos had shrugged on his cloak of professionalism, threadbare as it might be. Constance kissed d’Artagnan’s cheek and went off to her desk, while Athos and d’Artagnan went to theirs to see what had come in overnight. Two more shootings and a rape. Lovely.

Athos looked at the post which had come in that morning. The top letter was in a hand he recognised. _Catherine_. He picked it up and looked at the envelope, hoping this wouldn’t be a suicide note. It had been sent at the beginning of the week to the Montpellier commissariat and redirected to Marseille.

He looked up and jumped back in shock. “Jesus!” Anne’s ghost was right in front of his face.

“Athos? Are you all right?”

D’Artagnan came over, concern in his expression. “‘M fine,” Athos croaked. “Be back in a tick.”

He went to the gents, and, hiding in a cubicle, he opened Catherine’s letter.

_My dear Athos_

_I feel so awful I haven’t contacted you before. It’s been a wretched few months, for you as well as me, I’m sure._

_I’m writing because I received the judge’s findings from my lawyer about Thomas’s death. I was puzzled by them. I told the judge that I knew Thomas had been having an affair with Anne...._

Athos stared at the paper. Thomas and Anne...and he’d had no idea at all.

_...so he was most likely at your house that night for that reason. I still don’t see how Anne had any reason to kill him. Also, they finally returned Thomas’s personal laptop to me, but it had been wiped, which they have no right to do. I complained to Lucien Grimaud, the inspector working for the judge, but he told me this kind of thing happens. I will be making a formal complaint._

_Yesterday I found this morning some notes of his, hidden among some old photos of us from University. They are about meetings he had with Sylvie Martineau, a friend of ours from University—she works as a refugee advocate now in Marseille—and there are a list of dates and names which mean nothing to me. The last meeting with Sylvie was on the day he died. I’m going to speak to Grimaud about this, and try to contact Sylvie. Did you know anything about what this is about?_

_I have finally finished closing down our office. I’m moving back to Paris with my parents. We should meet before I go, and I hope to be better about being in contact in future. I hope you are well._

Athos wanted to retch. He closed his eyes and concentrated on not throwing up, but all he could think of was the deception. _Thomas and Anne._ How he could have been so blind? And why had a judge not enquired of Athos about their affair?

Lucien Grimaud was another problem entirely. He was one of Marcheaux’s men, a thuggish, sullen cop with a grudge against the world. Athos wouldn’t trust him at his front or his back. But was he dirty, or just incompetent?

“Athos? Are you in here?”

D’Artagnan, worried about him. Athos shoved the letter into his jacket pocket and opened the cubicle door. “My God, are you all right?” D’Artagnan went to help him, but Athos brushed him aside, going to the sink to wash his hands.

“I’m okay,” Athos lied.

“Are you sure?”

“What do you want?”

D’Artagnan gave him a narrow look. “Treville wants us to interview the rape victim and one of the other witnesses this morning. She’s in Chateau-Gombert.”

“Fine. You drive.”

“Athos—”

Athos turned to d’Artagnan. “Not _here_.”

He held d’Artagnan’s gaze until his partner nodded. “Okay. Let’s get moving.”

He let d’Artagnan handle the questions with the victim. To be honest, d’Artagnan was better at such things than Athos, and this morning, Athos was incapable of offering the kind reassurance the woman needed. He rallied a little to talk to the neighbour who’d heard the victim calling for help. Neither of the two women could identify the man, but the fingerprints and forensic samples had already given them a name. Treville gave them the go-ahead to pick him up.

The guy pulled a knife and d’Artagnan threw himself into the fight just a little too enthusiastically. Athos stepped in at the end and together they got the man to the ground and cuffed.

“Thanks for the help,” d’Artagnan said sarcastically as they loaded him into a patrol car to be taken down for questioning.

“You were enjoying yourself. Who am I to interfere?”

As the patrol car departed, they were left on their own. D’Artagnan opened their car door. “You ready to talk about what spooked you earlier?”

“Yes. I’ll drive.”

They switched sides and once they were seated, Athos drew out the letter. “Read this, don’t say a fucking word about its existence to anyone. I’ll talk to Constance this evening.”

Athos didn’t start the car. He waited for d’Artagnan to finish reading.

“This was sent....”

“A week before she died.”

“She doesn’t sound remotely suicidal.”

“No. I trust Aramis and Porthos with this, but I don’t trust the judge, since he’s the same one who investigated Thomas and Anne’s deaths. Anne reappeared as soon as I picked up the letter.”

“She’s trying to tell you something?”

“I have no idea. But the letter is definitely telling me something.”

“Why not call you?”

“She might have tried the flat. I changed my mobile number a couple of months ago. I forgot to give it to her. A mistake I bitterly regret, by the way.”

D’Artagnan folded the letter and gave it back. “You think she was murdered?”

“I don’t know what I think. But I want to talk to this Martineau woman.” Athos checked his watch, then pulled out his phone and did a search for her. “She’s attached to the Lawyers for Refugees charity. Their office is in Saint-Antoine. We have a little time before we have to return. Fancy a visit?”

“Why not?” But d’Artagnan put a hand on his arm. “If Catherine was murdered and it’s anything to do with this Sylvie Martineau, just asking about her could be trouble—for you or for her.”

“I know. You don’t have to come with me, d’Artagnan.”

“Are you kidding? That’s what partners are for, you arse.”

Athos smiled. “As you say.” He started the car.

The refugee office was full of people needing help, and the harassed staff clearly inadequate for the volume. Athos asked the receptionist if Mlle Martineau was around. “She hasn’t been here since Monday. I don’t know where she is.”

“Do you have an address?”

“Do you have a warrant?”

“No. But I’m concerned about her welfare.”

The receptionist pursed her lips. “Wait.”

She went to an inner office, and returned with an elegant blonde-haired woman. “Officers? I’m Ninon de Larroque. I run this office. Come with me.”

She took them into her office. “Why do you want to see Sylvie?”

“It’s concerning the death of my brother’s fiancé, Catherine de Granville. I’m trying to find out if Sylvie has any idea why Catherine would have killed herself on the weekend.”

“My condolences, _monsieur_ , but Sylvie hasn’t been heard of since last Friday. Do you have reason to think there is a less than benign reason for that?”

“I do, _madame_. But this is not an official investigation...as yet. I have a personal interest in both Catherine’s death and the welfare of Ms Martineau.”

“For obvious reasons I do not normally reveal personal information about my employees. But I trust you, so I’ll give you what we have. Please let me have your identification, in case you misuse that information.”

Athos handed over his ID, and so did d’Artagnan when she looked at him expectantly. “If she’s in any legal trouble—”

“We have no reason to suspect that, _madame_ ,” d’Artagnan assured her. She raised an eyebrow and turned to Athos.

“As he said,” Athos confirmed.

“Very well.” She opened her computer screen and scribbled down an address and phone number on a note pad. She handed the paper over. “Tell her we’re worried.”

“Of course.” He hesitated. “If she is in trouble, can she count on your assistance?”

“Yes. For anything. Good day, Captain de la Fère.”

Back at the car, d’Artagnan frowned. “Not sure Treville will want us to spend any more time on this, Athos.”

“Agreed. We’ll come back later.” Athos debated calling the woman’s number but thought that might just spook her. “Back to the station it is.”

He did manage to sneak a quick search in the system for Sylvie Martineau. Her ID photo showed a striking young black woman. She had no convictions, only a couple of arrests on public order grounds at protests, from which no charges proceeded. No one had reported her missing.

He had to tell Aramis about Catherine’s letter, but not through the official system. He decided he would wait until he and d’Artagnan visited Martineau’s home. Until then, he’d better concentrate on his job or Treville would ream his arse.

At half past four, they drove to Sylvie Martineau’s address. To Athos’s surprise, though the neighbourhood was far from the best, the house itself was a nice residence in good condition. He knocked. No answer. But when he tried again, a black woman, in her sixties he judged, opened the door.

“Good afternoon, _madame_. May I speak to Sylvie?”

“She’s not here.”

“Do you know when she’ll return?” The woman shook her head and went to close the door. “We’re police officers, _madame_. Sylvie isn’t in any trouble. May we come in?”

“I don’t have to let you.”

“No, you don’t. We’re simply concerned for her welfare, as is her employer.”

She looked unsure, but as d’Artagnan continued to smile in a friendly fashion, she relented and took them into the house. Inside was as neat and ordinary as the exterior. “I’m Captain Athos de la Fère, _madame_. Are you Sylvie’s mother?”

She looked startled. “Yes. Related to Thomas de la Fère?”

“I’m his brother.”

Madame Martineau put her hand over her heart. “Oh, dear God. She said that was all done with.”

“Perhaps we should sit down?”

She clutched a set of prayer beads as she sat and looked at them. “Sylvie disappeared Sunday night. Someone called her, and the next thing I knew, she had packed an overnight case, told me she had to leave, and she would call me. I haven’t heard a word from her since.”

“And no idea where the call came from?”

“No. She was terrified, I know that.”

“Why didn’t you call the police?”

Her grip on the prayer beads tightened. “You’re really Thomas’s brother?”

“Yes, _madame_. His only sibling. My wife killed him.”

“Sylvie went to see him. They were old friends. When Thomas died, something about it scared Sylvie so much she hid in the house for a week. She told me never to talk about Thomas to anyone, or mention that she had met him.” She looked at Athos. “A policeman came around asking for her after she returned to work. After he visited, she was too frightened to tell me what had happened.”

“Did this policeman have a name?”

“I can’t remember, but he was mean-looking. Long dark hair, white, scars above and below his eye. About Sylvie’s height, one hundred and seventy centimetres.”

Sounded like Lucien Grimaud. But why would he come all the way down here to talk to her? Part of the investigation into Thomas’s death? “Do you have any idea where she might have gone?”

“No. I’m not sure I would tell you if I did.”

“I understand. And you don’t know what she wanted to see Thomas about?”

“No. She actually said, ‘better if you don’t know, _Maman_ ’.”

Athos glanced at d’Artagnan, then pulled out his business card. “ _Madame_ , this is my phone number. Please give it to Sylvie if you see her, or call me yourself if you feel it wise. If another police officer should come to see you, perhaps you could call me to let me know. I...think it might be best if you don’t tell them where Sylvie is, if you discover it. Or about her visiting Thomas, at least for now. There are two officers from Montpellier I trust with my life who might contact you—Aramis d’Herblay and Porthos du Vallon. You can talk to them, or to me or d’Artagnan.”

“Do the police have something to do with Sylvie’s disappearance?”

“I don’t know at this point, _madame_. But I want to be cautious with her safety and hers.” He stood. “Thank you for talking to us.”

She nodded. “I’m very sorry for your loss, captain.”

“Thank you.”

D’Artagnan got into the driver’s seat. “My dad died when I was sixteen. I got truly tired of people saying that to me.”

“Yes.” Athos didn’t mind the sympathy, to tell the truth, but the constant repetition of the rituals of grief and mourning exhausted him. He was so tired of being reminded that he was entitled to them, because he had lost someone close to him.

“You realise we’ll both lose our jobs if Treville finds out what you just said to that woman. Or if Grimaud does.”

“Yes, I know. I need to speak to Aramis, but from home, not the office. I really ought to do it in person.” It was only Wednesday. He couldn’t justify taking a day off to drive to Montpellier right now, but he could drive up on Friday evening. “I also want Constance’s opinion.”

“Then we better go home, hadn’t we?”

**********

Athos handed d’Artagnan Catherine’s letter. “You show this to Constance, tell her what we found out. I want to clean up before supper.” And gather his composure too.

Anne was back in the studio. “You know, if you want me to solve this, you could give me a hint or two, Anne. Scaring the crap out of me doesn’t help.”

She raised a hand as if to caress him. He felt nothing, but it was the first time she had attempted to directly interact with him. Or perhaps his imagination was now working overtime. “Do you know where Sylvie is?” The ghost shook her head. “Is she alive?” A nod.

 _Fuck. Interrogating a spectre._ “Did you kill Thomas?” She shook her head, looking sadder than ever. “But you were sleeping with him.”

A nod. Athos ought to feel angry but it was all over with now. What could he do about it? “Will you leave me alone when I find the truth?”

Another nod, though she held out her hand as if to ask him for something. “It’s too late, Anne. Whatever you wanted from me, I can’t give it to you now. I wish you had told me the truth. You might still be alive. So might he.”

Another sad look. “Yeah, too late for that. But I will find the truth. Please...can you stop hanging around? It’s not helping.”

She vanished instantly. Okay, that was an improvement. He still loved her, but the news of the affair threw their marriage into an unflattering light. He had worked a lot of nights after his promotion, and she hated that, but had she turned to Thomas or had he come onto her? And how had Catherine found out?

He showered and climbed the stairs. Constance came to him immediately and hugged him. “Oh, you poor baby. I’m sorry.” She kissed his cheek. He turned and kissed her on the lips, making her smile. D’Artagnan, watching, only grinned. Athos relaxed. Seemed d’Artagnan was just fine with all of it.

“Charles is heating up a ragout. You should have a glass of wine.” She poured him a glass of red, and handed it to him. “This is a mess. What do you want to do?”

“I want to hear what you think. What you both think.”

She curled up beside him on the couch. “I agree with Charles that the fact the judge didn’t ask you about the affair is weird as hell. The question is, did the judge know about it? And did Grimaud, if it was Grimaud, come to threaten Sylvie, or just to question her?”

“We don’t know until we find her. Do I tell Aramis or not?”

“How much do you trust him?”

“With my very soul,” Athos said unhesitatingly. “He and Porthos both. They are my true brothers.”

She smiled. “Sounds like you love them.”

“I do. I’m not part of their emotional partnership, but in every other way, including...physical...I do.”

“You slept with them?”

“I still do.”

D’Artagnan raised his eyebrows at that. “Uh...does that mean you don’t want us—”

“No, it doesn’t,” Athos said quickly. “You are you and they are them. I...would like to explore where this is going with you both.”

“But you want to deal with this first.”

“Yes. Sorry.”

She kissed his cheek. “Not at all, love. That’s what we want to. But it makes me even fonder of Aramis than I was, to know how much he means to you.”

“Both of them.”

“Then I must meet Porthos so I can be fond of him too.”

Athos grinned. “He’d like that. But what do I tell Aramis?”

“The truth,” Constance said.

D’Artagnan at the counter, nodded too. “You trust him enough not to be stupid with the information, don’t you?”

“Of course.”

“Then don’t lie to him. Or us, Athos. We’re on your side.”

“Then I will. I’ll go downstairs to call him.”

“As you like,” she said. “Or our bedroom. Or stay here.”

There was a question in her voice—did he want to hide anything from them? Athos didn’t, so he pulled out his phone and called Aramis there and then. “Athos _querido_ , how are you?”

“Okay. Aramis, there’s been a development in Catherine de Granville’s case.”

Athos read the letter to him, and described what had happened at Sylvie Martineau’s place. “Holy Mother of God,” Aramis breathed. “Who have you told?”

“Constance and d’Artagnan. I trust them as I would trust you and Porthos. But we can’t take this to Judge Feron. Not until we know what’s going on with Sylvie Martineau.”

“Agreed. Shit.” Athos imagined Aramis running his hand through his hair in frustration. “And no clue as to where this woman is?”

“Not a one. I’m hoping her mother will pass on my details to her. I don’t want to start an official search because it might put up flags at your end.”

“Yes. What about this boss of hers? She might know something.”

“She might, but I’m wondering why, in an office full of lawyers, Sylvie decided to contact Thomas who didn’t even live in Marseille. Have you searched Catherine’s house?”

“Yes, but not with this in mind. We were just looking for a suicide note. We can go back tomorrow and look for this hiding place Thomas used, but I suspect the material is no longer there.”

“She said the hard drive of his laptop had been wiped, but if it hasn’t been done properly, it could be recovered forensically. It needs to be recovered and kept safe.”

“Yes, agreed. We’ll look again.”

“One thing, Aramis. Why do you think Marcheaux put you and Porthos on this? I mean, you and not Grimaud?”

“I don’t know,” Aramis said slowly. “Perhaps he already knew there was nothing else to find?”

“Where did the gun come from? Catherine doesn’t seem the type to own a weapon. Didn’t,” he corrected.

“It was Thomas’s. He had a permit. She didn’t.”

“Ah. Yes, that fits.”

“ _Chéri_ , perhaps you should take this to the captain. You can trust him.”

“Yes, but I’d like to have a bit more for him before we do. Give me until Monday?”

“Okay. We won’t say anything. Are Constance and d’Artagnan looking after you?”

Athos put the phone on speaker. “He wants to know if you’re looking after me.”

“With all our hearts and souls, Aramis, darling,” Constance said.

Aramis laughed. “Well, then, you’re in good hands, _mi amigo_. We’ll speak again soon.”

“Call me after work, just to be safe, okay?”

“Okay. No emails either.”

“Agreed. My love to Porthos.”

Athos shut down the call. His companions looked at him. “What?”

“You’re adorable,” d’Artagnan said, grinning, Constance nodding enthusiastically. “Competent and cute.”

Athos flushed hot and muttered, “Am not.”

Constance hugged him. “Yes you are. Charles, where’s the food?”

“Coming, milady. God, you’re more demanding than a cat.”

“Careful, boy, or you’ll be sleeping at the foot of my bed like a cat.”

“You know I’m not into that kinky dom-sub shit.”

“Who said anything about kink, Charles?” But she got up to kiss him and they shared a cuddle in the kitchen. Athos thought he wasn’t the only one in the room who was adorable.

D’Artagnan served up the food, and they ate at the table. “Suppose Catherine and Thomas were killed to stop them revealing what they knew about whatever Sylvie’s up to. Why not just kill Sylvie?”

“Because her death would point more directly at what they’re trying to cover up?” Constance suggested.

“Whoever it is, seems exceptionally good at staging killings, if that’s what’s going on,” Athos said. “I find it hard to believe they couldn’t make it look like suicide in her case.”

“Maybe it’s Ninon. They’re afraid of her. She’s pretty scary,” d’Artagnan said. Constance grinned and patted his arm consolingly. “I didn’t mean she scared _me_. Just, I can believe if Sylvie was murdered, she’d dig and dig until she found an answer.”

“As I should have done,” Athos said. “I was so convinced Anne had killed Thomas, I didn’t look further.”

“To be fair to you, love,” Constance said, “I think it was designed to make you feel that way. It’s so horrifying on the face of it, who would want to dig deeper?”

“I’m a cop. I should have. Now I wonder if what I know now is worse. She didn’t kill him, but she was cheating on me with him.”

D’Artagnan frowned at Athos. “How do you know she didn’t kill him?”

 _Shit._ “Um...I asked her.” The two of them stared at him. “I asked her ghost if she killed Thomas and she shook her head, okay? But if they were lovers, why would she? They already had a secret to keep from me—why would Thomas suddenly spring on her that she had a past I didn’t know about? Unless he was trying to force her to leave me.”

“He might have done,” Constance said.

“Okay, but she had a gun. Did she buy that illegally just because?”

“It’s possible. More than possible,” d’Artagnan said. “We can’t take the word of a ghost as evidence.”

“I’m not asking you to!” Athos stood and walked over to the window. _Shit._ He hadn’t meant to lose his temper. “I’m sorry. It’s all a bit....”

“It’s all right, love.” Constance came to his side and took his hand. “You have a point, that what you know doesn’t fit well with the official version. The way to prove or disprove it is to find who really killed your brother—and his fiancé—and if it’s not Anne, that will clear her name. Her ghost will be happy then.”

“She will be. I asked her that too.”

She drew him back to the table. “I’m sorry, Charles,” Athos said to him. “You’re perfectly correct to point out what you did. I’m not going on the word of a ghost.”

“I know. You’re far too good a police officer to do that. So, what do you want to do next?”

“Question Ninon de Larroque again. She’s too smart not to wonder what the hell is going on with Sylvie, not just now, but seven months ago.”

“And Treville? I don’t like hiding stuff from him.”

“Nor do I. But other than the letter and the _possibility_ that Captain Grimaud is harassing Sylvie, what do I have? He would be obliged to pass the letter on, and once that happens, the cover-up, if there is a cover-up, will crank into gear. I at least want to know if there’s anything _to_ be covered up. Like I said to Aramis, give me until Monday? I’m asking, not demanding. I don’t want you breaking the law on my say so.”

“What law? What letter?” D’Artagnan asked innocently. “You didn’t tell me about a letter.”

“Hmmm.” It was nice of him, but Athos had already implicated d’Artagnan with the visits to the refugee centre and Martineau’s mother. If the shit hit the fan, all Athos could do would be to do his best to prove his senior officer had overruled d’Artagnan. “Constance?”

“Hey, I know nothing about it. You were talking about a ghost, Athos. Clearly you’re deranged and I took no notice of your ramblings.” She reached for his hand and squeezed it, smiling, taking the sting out of her words.”

“Thank you. Thank you both. Charles, no more visits with me, okay? I need to be the one in trouble, if anyone is.”

“I’m your partner.”

“Yes, and I appreciate the ‘all for one and one for all’ sentiment. But your career is important. You’re a bloody fantastic cop, and you are going places.”

D’Artagnan lifted his wine glass in salute. “Thanks, boss.”

They finished their meal, and d’Artagnan and Athos cleared away. Constance stretched extravagantly. “I’m going to have a shower. Charles, you can wash my back.”

“Yes, milady Constance.”

“I should go,” Athos said.

She held up a hand. “Don’t you want to sleep with us again?”

“Constance, it was wonderful to share with you, but you and d’Artagnan surely want some time to yourselves. You know...to make love and such.”

“You’re welcome to watch,” d’Artagnan said. “If you’d like.”

Athos’s mouth went dry. “Uh.”

Constance smacked d’Artagnan’s arm. “You broke him, Charles. Athos, please do whatever you like. You are, as Charles said, welcome to watch. Or anything else,” she added slyly. Athos couldn’t believe this was the shy, albeit enthusiastic young woman on that holiday in Nice. “But you are equally welcome to your privacy.”

“Uh. I’ll join you, I think.”

“Excellent! Come in when you’re ready. Charles, bathroom.”

Heart thudding, Athos went downstairs to clean his teeth and change. Was this sensible? No. Did he want it? Yes. He had always known that one person would never be enough for his heart or his cock, but he had always tried to be level-headed about it. Porthos and Aramis were the safest people he could entrust himself with at work or in bed. D’Artagnan and Constance seemed to be safe too, but he didn’t know them as well or for as long as he’d known the others.

He didn’t know if he trusted _himself_ , that was the real problem. Porthos and Aramis had been his friends from the start, Aramis already on the force and Porthos joining when Athos had done so. They were already a couple by that stage, and Athos had never been a threat, nor would he have been permitted to be. But d’Artagnan and Constance were both much younger than Athos, and unlikely to be experienced in navigating a polyamorous liaison. That left it up to him to be sensible.

Sometimes he hated being sensible, never more when faced with overwhelming temptation.

He’d just _watch_ , he told himself. That way d’Artagnan would have no reason for jealousy, and they could keep this fire banked for a little while longer. He hoped, at least.

He waited twenty minutes—long enough for a long, sexy shower—then went upstairs. D’Artagnan and Constance were already in bed, but this time, naked, lying without the cover of sheets or duvets. Athos gazed at the loveliness before him—Constance, he already knew to be exquisite, but had only been able to guess at d’Artagnan's physique under the clothes. “Good God, you’re beautiful.”

D’Artagnan smiled at him. “I suppose I won’t get to find out what you look like tonight.”

Athos slipped off his dressing gown and approached the bed. “Skinny and pale, I’m afraid. Don’t look at me.”

“I will if I want to.” D’Artagnan’s gaze seemed appreciative enough, which either meant he was exceedingly polite or had dreadful taste. The lovely woman in his arms was evidence against the latter. “Come here.”

He held out his hand, and drew Athos down to the bed, before kissing him on the lips, using his tongue and a hand on Athos’s back to keep him close. The moment Athos came up for air, Constance claimed him, and husband and wife brought him down to horizontal, Constance’s mouth still on Athos’s.

Athos was hard when she set him free, and tried to cover his genitals with the sheet. “No, let us see you,” d’Artagnan said, gently moving Athos’s hand and the sheet away.

“I only intend to watch,” Athos said. “I don’t want to interfere.”

Constance, on d’Artagnan’s other side, shook her head at him. “We want you here, and anything you do is fine for us. This isn’t the first time we’ve had a third with us, though this is the first time we’ve had someone we both love as much as we do you.”

“Love?”

“Too much?” D’Artagnan said. “I may as well be honest, Athos. I’m head over heels for you.”

“And I’ve been in love with you since Nice,” Constance said. “I was bloody stupid to marry Jacques, though on the plus side, it did bring Charles into my life.”

Athos stared in shock. “I feel the same. But...are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” d’Artagnan said, kissing him again, and putting a firm hand on Athos’s cock. The touch made him almost cry with relief.

“It’s just...Porthos and Aramis....”

“Are not us, love,” Constance said. “But you don’t have to indulge us at all. Not now, not ever. We will still care for you, love you, whether we have sex or not. Do you understand? We’re friends, not just...opportunists.”

“I never thought you were.” He bent and kissed her across d’Artagnan’s body, then sat up to kiss him. “May I watch? Please, love each other as you usually do.”

“Just relax, Athos,” d’Artagnan said to him. “If you want to touch either of us, you go ahead.”

Athos nodded. D’Artagnan wrapped his arms around Constance and the two of them kissed and stroked each other unhurriedly, giving no hint that any of this was for anyone’s benefit but their own. D’Artagnan’s lithe tanned body against Constance’s milk pale, lush form was a picture worthy of Dégas.

D’Artagnan kissed his way down Constance’s body, lingering over her nipples, while she arched in pleasure. Athos remembered doing the same to her in Nice—how she shivered under his touch, her heart fluttering deliciously under his hand—and his cock grew harder. Though he ached to touch her breasts, he still only watched, not wanting to interrupt d’Artagnan’s worship of his wife’s beauty.

Constance rolled on top of d’Artagnan, crouched over him, then lifting herself up so he could enter her. They held each other’s hand as she slowly fucked herself on his erection. Athos thought he had never seen anything more arousing in his life.

She turned her head to look at Athos. “Come play with me?”

“Yeah, make her come, Athos,” d’Artagnan said.

Athos stood and knelt behind her as she sat astride her husband. She leaned back against him, then guided his hand between her legs. “Do it,” she whispered, starting to rock on d’Artagnan’s body again.

So as she fucked herself, Athos played with her clit, d’Artagnan teasing her nipples. Constance arched back against Athos and moaned, then leaned into d’Artagnan’s hands. She rocked faster and faster, until d’Artagnan shouted and she put her head back on Athos’s shoulder as she came. He held her close until she stopped shuddering.

“Oh my God,” she gasped out. “Oh God.”

Athos nuzzled at her neck. “Thank you, beautiful.”

“Thank you.” She reached around to pat his cheek. “Charles? How about you?”

“I’m fucking wrecked. Jesus, Athos.”

Athos moved back and let the two of them embrace. He was rock hard, but emotionally, he felt like he’d already come. He hadn’t had his hands on any woman since Anne died, let alone such a passionate one. He looked around guiltily—if Anne’s ghost had watched, she’d kept out of sight.

Constance swung down to lie next to d’Artagnan, so they were both looking at him. “What would you like?” D’Artagnan asked, reaching over to touch his cock.

Athos moved his hand away. “I’m fine. Really. Another time.” Even an orgasm couldn’t match the intensity of being part of them like that.

“Seems unfair,” Constance said.

Athos lay down next to them, so he could stroke her breasts. “No, it’s really fine. That was...lovely. You are more gorgeous than ever. Charles, I envy her having you.”

“You have me too,” d’Artagnan said, reached over to touch his arm. “And I will have you, if you wish.”

“Yes, but not tonight.”

Constance moved so she lay on top of him, his erection between her legs. D’Artagnan rose and went to their bathroom, returning with a cloth which he used to tenderly wipe her down. “Water for either of you?”

“I’m good,” Athos said. Constance, in his arms, mumbled something that sounded the same.

D’Artagnan disposed of the washcloth, then lay down, turned out the bedside light, and cuddled up to Athos’s side. Constance seemed content to lie on top of him, and Athos was happy to have her there. “Thank you for letting me share,” he said.

“Our pleasure. Really.” D’Artagnan kissed his shoulder. “Sleep now.”

Athos stayed hard, but there was no discomfort. Nothing was stopping him going off for a wank, or even asking d’Artagnan for a blowjob, but he was content to be surrounded by warmth and affection. He felt stronger than he had all day, and he would need that strength in the coming days, he suspected.


	3. Chapter 3

Ninon de Larroque agreed to meet him after work. “Don’t bring your regular phone,” she warned. “They can track you on it.” So at lunchtime, Athos bought a couple of prepaid mobiles, gave the first number to d’Artagnan and Constance, and the second to Aramis and Porthos. He told them not to share it, or use it outside an emergency. If someone was tracking Sylvie Martineau via her smartphone, that meant that someone had access to systems on a privileged basis. He didn’t know if Ninon was simply being cautious, but he bowed to her wishes nonetheless.

They met in a small restaurant in Chinatown, Ninon ordering comfortably in what she said was Mandarin, and Athos allowing her to choose for him. “You know where Sylvie is, don’t you?” he said once the order had been made.

“If I did, I would hardly tell a police officer, captain.”

“I’m here as Thomas de la Fère’s brother, not as a cop. I can’t help him, or my wife, or Thomas’s fiancé. But I sure as hell can try to make sure no one else dies because of this, whatever ‘this’ is. Sylvie’s in danger, and the only way to end that danger is to expose the people who are frightening her. Or threatening her. Which is it?”

“Both.” She laid her long-fingered hands on the table, one over the other, apparently calm as a cat. But in her eyes, he saw worry. “Thomas discovered that this goes a lot deeper, a lot further, than you can imagine. It got him killed. If you can’t protect your own brother, how can you protect Sylvie?”

“I didn’t know there was any reason to protect him. He didn’t come to me, nor did Anne. I wish they had. Even though they were cheating on me, I would have done everything in my power to help them. Is Sylvie going to hide for the rest of her life?”

“She’s only hiding now because Catherine was killed, Athos. They won’t kill her. They _will_ kill her mother if Sylvie goes public.”

“I don’t understand. Why not just wipe her out?”

Ninon’s lips thinned. “She has set up a dead man’s switch. If they kill her or her mother, information will be released that the people concerned will suffer quite badly as a result of. But if she releases it otherwise, she and her mother will be killed. So it’s a stalemate.”

“And these people are cops?” Ninon nodded. “And...judges?” She nodded again. “Higher up?”

“Indeed. So you see her dilemma. Thomas was able to help discover some of those behind this, but then he was killed and it was made clear to Sylvie that should that information find its way into the wild, she would also die.”

“Why him? Why not you?”

“She knows there are dirty cops, dirty officials in Marseille. She thought someone not based in Marseille would be able to enquire without damaging themselves or the people Sylvie was trying to help. She and Thomas were old friends. She was devastated when he died.”

“So you knew my wife was innocent.”

“Yes. But as she was already dead, revealing that could hurt no one but the living.” She looked at him. “I’m sorry, for what it’s worth. Sylvie was horrified. She doesn’t know if Anne was deliberately implicated or if it was opportunistic to let her carry the blame.”

“She’s still dead,” Athos said. “All three of them are.”

Their meal arrived, and they ate in silence. Athos couldn’t see a way out of Sylvie’s situation which didn’t end up with her dead. “Can you at least tell me what these people are covering up?” he said as he finished eating. The food was good but it had been wasted on him. He was too distracted by what he’d learned.

Ninon leaned in and spoke quietly. “Wholesale child trafficking through the refugee camps. It goes all the way up, Athos.”

 _Shit_. “Are you in communication with her?” Ninon nodded. “Okay. You can give her this number,” he read out the one for his first prepaid phone, “if she wants to contact me. You can use it too. There are police officers I trust with my life. All but one already knows about my suspicions. If anyone contacts her claiming to be from the police, she or you should call me before she talks to them.”

“She won’t be talking to any cops, trust me. But that’s useful information to have. I hope you can do something but I’m not holding my breath.”

“I understand. I appreciate the risk you took in meeting me.”

“I won’t be doing so again, I hope you realise. But I’ll do what I can.”

He paid for the meal and offered her a lift, which she declined, saying she would take the Métro. She offered him her hand. “Good luck, Athos.”

“You too. Please tell her I don’t blame her for what happened.”

“That’ll mean a lot to her. Good night.”

Athos lingered in his room when he came home and showered. The lights were on upstairs, a clear invitation to at least come up and talk. Should he drag d’Artagnan and Constance in further? He called Aramis instead.

“Darling, we were just talking about you. How are things?”

“Complicated. I spoke to Ninon de Larroque. The short summary is that there’s a wasp’s nest barely under control, and Sylvie is very close to being stung to death.” He repeated what Ninon had told him. “The only person who can help is Treville, I think. But once I involve him, he’s in danger too. I’ve already put d’Artagnan and Constance at risk. And you two.”

“ _Chéri_ , we’re police officers. It’s our job. You have to speak to the captain.”

“You two need to keep your heads down. Don’t mention me, don’t mention you’ve spoken to me.”

“We’re already doing that, darling. Even without this, things stink here enough that we don’t trust anyone but ourselves. By the way, Catherine’s mother asked you to call her. She hasn’t got your number—wasn’t sure if you wanted me to give it to her.”

“Damn, no, please do. I’ll try and call.”

“Good. Ah, apparently you are Catherine’s sole legatee, she says.”

“Makes sense. Her parents are rich and she had no siblings. I’ll deal with it.” More legal crap. Athos was tired of lawyers. He’d left that all to Thomas before. Now he had to deal with it all himself.

“When will you speak to the captain?”

“As soon as I can. Aramis, I don’t have any idea how to fix this. So if you or Porthos have a brainwave, please call.”

“We will. Are you sleeping okay?”

“Very well. Ah... D’Artagnan and Constance have kindly...offered me their bed.”

“Good for them! I’m glad, darling. You were not made to be alone.”

“No. I’m taking it slow. They’re much younger than you two.”

“Yes, but Constance is a very clever and brave woman. You’ll be safe with her.”

“I hope so. I still love you both as much as ever.”

“As we do you, Athos. Don’t stress. You’re not losing lovers, you’re gaining another set.”

“Thank you.”

“And now, get some rest. I’ll leave it to you for now, okay?”

“Yes, that’s fine.”

“Good night then, _chéri_.”

Aramis’s words decided him. Athos put on a dressing gown and went upstairs. D’Artagnan and Constance were still sitting in the living room, clearly waiting for him. As soon as he came in, she took him to the couch and d’Artagnan joined them. They listened as he told them what he knew.

“This is a much more dangerous situation than I realised. So I have to ask you both to keep well clear of it until at least Treville has a plan.”

“Of course,” Constance said. “You were right. Anne was innocent.”

“Yes. She should know I would have forgiven her the affair.” Athos stared into space. The ghost had not chosen to reappear. “And that I love her still. I always will.”

“I hope that gives her spirit ease,” d’Artagnan said. “Time to sleep, both of you.” He took their hands and drew them into the bedroom. He stopped to kiss Athos, holding him close. “This weekend, give yourself to me?”

“Yes,” Athos said unhesitatingly. “To both of you, whatever you want.”

D’Artagnan rested his head on Athos’s shoulder. “I am so very in love with you.”

Athos stroked his hair. So soft and perfect. “And I with you. With you both. Please don’t allow me to harm your relationship.”

“You won’t, Athos,” Constance, sitting on the bed, said. “We choose you for ourselves.”

“Thank you. I only want to sleep tonight. Is that all right?”

D’Artagnan smiled. “Of course.” He led Athos to the bed and urged him to lie down, then lay on the other side of him from Constance. “Don’t fret too much about this mess. We’re all with you.”

That was the terrifying thing, though. These people had already shown a horrifying ability to use loved ones as a weapon. What if they found out what Athos knew? He had so many vulnerabilities now. So many people he could not bear to lose.

“Don’t let me drag you down,” he whispered against d’Artagnan’s neck. “Keep yourselves safe. Promise me.”

“I promise. I would do that anyway. I know you couldn’t bear the guilt.”

Athos exhaled. D’Artagnan understood. That was at least one thing off his mind.

**********

He wrote the note for Treville before he came to the office, and passed it to him with his reports. He waited at his desk, wondering what his boss would do. He didn’t have long to wait. Treville came to his door.

“Ah, Athos, don’t forget dinner at my place tonight. Seven still okay for you?”

“Of course, sir. I’ll remind Constance and d’Artagnan.”

Treville nodded, and went back into his office. Seconds later, Athos received a text with Treville’s address. He waited until he and d’Artagnan were in the car, off to see a witness. “Treville will talk to us at his house tonight, for dinner. He’s made it look like something we’ve had arranged for a while. You and Constance are expected.”

“Of course.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know.” D’Artagnan turned and grinned at him. “Shall we go?”

Athos did his best to concentrate on his job, but all day he wondered if he was being watched, if his lovers were. And was Sylvie safe? Could they ever keep her safe if she left her hiding place?

It was a relief to finish work and head to Treville’s place with d’Artagnan and Constance. Once Treville knew, Athos’s conscience over hiding things from his boss and the authorities would be eased.

Treville himself did not look happy as he opened the door to them all. “Come in,” he said, without noticeable warmth. He squared off to Athos in his living room. “Now, what the hell is going on, Athos?”

“You might to sit down, sir. It’s a long story.”

Treville grunted, then took a seat. The rest of them took the cue to do the same. Athos showed him a copy of Catherine’s letter—the original safely hidden in Constance’s house—and told him what he had learned from Ninon and Sylvie’s mother, and then from Ninon the night before. He didn’t mention Anne’s ghost—there was no need, fortunately.

“And Ninon outright accuses Judge Feron and others of covering up child trafficking?”

“Yes, sir. She doesn’t seem the kind to back down except in the face of overwhelming and undefeatable odds.”

“You’re done due diligence—there’s no chance the letter is fake?”

“No, sir. I don’t believe Madame Martineau or Ninon de Larroque are lying either. Sir, Constance brought up the inconsistencies in the official findings about Thomas and Anne’s death. I was too blinded by my own grief to see them myself, but once you look at them dispassionately, even without Catherine’s letter, it doesn’t make any sense. They make even less sense—no sense at all in fact—once the letter’s statements are taken into account.”

Treville nodded. He sat in contemplation for a good while, rubbing his beard. Finally he sighed. “If even part of this is true, this is explosive stuff. I can’t handle it alone, and you lot sure as hell can’t. Aramis and Porthos are laying low?”

“Yes, sir. Aramis swears they have given no one any reason to suspect that _they_ suspect there’s anything odd about Catherine’s death.”

“Philippe Feron is highly connected, you realise. His family are connected to three separate presidents of the republic, and there have been rumours that he’s actually the bastard son of a president too. He was only installed in Montpellier last year, after Thomas’s death. He replaced the original magistrate who was taken ill quite suddenly.”

“Brought in to manage the findings,” d’Artagnan said. “I wonder what the magistrate’s illness was.”

“These people can do whatever they want, with impunity. Sylvie Martineau was smart enough to lay a trap for them if they kill her, but she still can’t reveal the truth, without paying a terrible price,” Constance said. “It’s appalling. She might have to live with this threat hanging over her for the rest of her life.” D’Artagnan took her hand and gave her a sympathetic look.

“Yes,” Treville said. “I can’t say I’m grateful you’ve brought this to me, Athos, but I don’t think you had an honourable alternative. I know some people who know some people. There are honest magistrates too. What we need is evidence they can’t suppress, and without it all being on Sylvie. We also need to talk to her, find out exactly what she knows, and who she believes is involved.”

“Ninon won’t meet me in person again, she says. Too risky. But I can ask her to call, and see if we can set up a meeting with Sylvie.”

“Do that now, Athos,” Treville told him. “D’Artagnan, I was going to order takeaway. Would you care to do that for me? The menus and numbers are over on the counter. I’m going to make coffee.”

Athos texted Ninon. _Call me, urgent, A de la F_

“Have you somewhere we can meet in private, sir?” he asked.

“I have a couple of ideas. Let’s see if she can arrange it first.”

Treville had barely stopped speaking when Athos’s phone rang. “Ninon.”

“Athos. What do you want?”

“I’ve told my boss, a commandant at Marseille, about Sylvie. He was the only one of my trusted friends I hadn’t yet informed. He wants to speak to Sylvie. Can you arrange a meeting?”

“Possibly. When?”

“As soon as practical. This weekend?” He looked at Treville who nodded. “Yes?”

“I may be able to. Tell your Treville not to bring his own phone, and make sure you aren’t followed. Only you and he will come, if I set this up. No promises, Athos. I’ll call you back within the hour.”

“Understood. Thank you, Ninon.”

She rang off. “So that’s that. She’ll call back within one hour. So now we wait.”

Constance and Treville remained in the kitchen, talking quietly. D’Artagnan came over to sit with Athos. “I wouldn’t blame her if she refused to meet.”

“Nor I. But as Constance pointed out, it’s no way for her to live. And there’s her mother too.”

“If your wife was set up as your brother’s killer, does that mean there was someone in the SWAT team being paid off?”

Athos nodded. “I’ve been wondering that too. If Anne panicked, why didn’t she get in our car and run?”

“Why not ask her?” D’Artagnan had kept his voice low, but Athos still glanced at his boss and Constance in alarm.

“Doesn’t work like that. But it’s another reason to be wary of Montpellier as well as Marseille. Shit, how far does this go?”

“Child trafficking through the camps isn’t a new accusation, though.”

“The involvement of cops and judges and more is. If Sylvie’s right, we’re working with officers right here who are involved in this.”

“And you’re sure Treville—”

Athos narrowed his eyes. “Yes. Do not speak, Charles, if you open your mouth to accuse a man like him. He’s taken bullets for his officers. He took one for me.”

“My apologies, Athos.” D’Artagnan looked genuinely distressed.

Athos touched his partner’s knee. “Accepted,” he said quietly. “But this shows how insidious corruption can be. Making us distrust even the finest of men.”

Athos’s phone rang. “Ninon, what did she say?”

“Meet us at the Faculty of Science in Luminy at ten o’clock on Sunday morning. There is a sandwich stand on the campus—I’ll send you the coordinates. This Treville and you, and no one else. Do you understand?”

“Of course. Is she okay?”

“She’s been better. Athos, you can trust no one at Marseille. Or Montpellier.”

“I trust my friends.”

“I hope you are right in that. Fill up with petrol before you leave. Don’t leave a credit card trail. Avoid tolls.”

“As you wish. Thank you.”

She hung up without another word. Treville came over to hear Athos’s report. “Luminy, Sunday morning. I’ll collect you, sir.”

“Very well.”

“Sir, Ninon says no one at Marseille can be trusted, or at Montpellier.”

Treville’s face contorted briefly in pain. “Much as I hate to say it, I think we have to proceed on that assumption until we know more. Tell Aramis, but no one else.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now we may as well eat, as long as you’re here.” He sighed heavily. “I hate this kind of thing.”

“Corruption?” D’Artagnan asked.

“Child trafficking. It’s one of those crimes that drags in people at every level of society. Never ceases to amaze me how infiltrated into the system paedophiles can be. You may think you know the people you work with, but prepare to be horrified.” Treville’s shoulders slumped. Athos knew how he felt.

The food delivery ten minutes later gave them something else to think about for a little while, but it was a dejected group of police officers who made their way back to St Jérôme an hour later. Constance took d’Artagnan’s hand as they walked from the Métro station, but at the house, she drew Athos into a hug. “I need cheering up,” she said against his neck.

“What would you like, my lady?”

She lifted her head and looked at d’Artagnan, before saying, “You make love to me while he watches?”

“Only if he fucks me afterwards while you watch.”

Constance and d’Artagnan looked at him with pupils gone wide in a way that owed nothing to the light. “Damn,” d’Artagnan said. “I like this one. Can we keep him?”

“Try taking him away.” She kissed Athos. “Come upstairs when you’re ready, love.”

Anne’s ghost was waiting for him in his studio. “You didn’t kill Thomas,” Athos told her. “I’m sorry, Anne. I wish you’d told me you were so unhappy that you had to sleep with him.”

She held her hands out to him, but of course there was no point. “We’re on our way to finding out the full story. But you need to go on when we do. I have to stay, and make a new life. I know that hurts you.”

She nodded, still looking sad. “I love you, Anne. I _will_ clear your name.”

She held up a hand as if in farewell, then disappeared. The sore spot in Athos’s heart that bore Anne’s name would never heal fully, he suspected. The anger and grief he’d felt for the last few months had been poison to him, and now he could mourn her without the rage, the grief still felt off, as if he didn’t know how to feel it cleanly.

He suspected he really ought to speak to a professional about this. Maybe when this mess was untangled, he would.

He showered and shaved, made himself as ready as he could for his beautiful lovers. When he climbed the stairs, he found d’Artagnan and Constance lying on their bed, the lighting down low enough to make their skins look like pale gold. “I could look at you all night,” Athos said, coming to kneel at the end of the bed.

“I don’t have that kind of patience,” Constance said, holding her hand out. Athos came up to her to kiss her, but stopped to kiss d’Artagnan too.

“Thank you,” he said.

“You’re welcome. Now, please.” D’Artagnan nudged Athos down to Constance again. “I’m looking forward to this.”

So Athos took his time. He kissed Constance’s forehead. Her eyelids. Tasted her lovely lips, and the hollow of her throat. He treated each perfect nipple to lavish worship until she was arching under his hands. He moved down, kissed her stomach, rubbed his beard in her pretty curls and along the sensitive line above them. Then he tasted her, his tongue probing her nether lips, and that little bump that made her sigh with pleasure. She liked his teeth, gentle against it, and his tongue inside her.

Athos glanced up and found d’Artagnan massaging her breasts, smiling at his two lovers. “Go on,” d’Artagnan said. “Have her.”

“Yes, please,” Constance said, tugging at Athos’s hair and sending a jolt of heat through him.

D’Artagnan stood and walked to the end of the bed. Athos wondered what he was doing until he heard the crinkle of a condom wrapper and then d’Artagnan’s hands were on his cock, preparing him for Constance. “Now,” d’Artagnan said, moving back onto the bed, next to Constance.

Athos put a pillow under Constance’s hips, and spread her legs. He opened her with his fingers, spreading her generous juices. He lifted his fingers and sucked them, tasting her. D’Artagnan’s eyes went wide. “Now, darling?” Athos asked.

“Yes, hurry, Athos.”

He eased into her, slow and deep. She moaned a little, then grasped her own breasts to play with them as he thrust again. D’Artagnan watched, fascinated and hard, as Athos made love to Constance, every time he entered her a joy, the slick tightness something he loved and had thought never to enjoy again, certainly not with this beautiful, lusty woman.

She hooked her feet behind him, and made him plunge deeper into her heat, faster, and he could not last long under that stimulation. He came with a groan, sorry to end so quickly, glad to end inside her. He bent and rested his head on her stomach. “My beautiful Constance,” he whispered against her skin. He made to move down to her cunt so he could make her come too, but she tugged at his hair.

He looked up. She had put a pillow behind her head so she could see him easily. “While he takes you,” she said, and his freshly spent cock twitched despite himself.

“Yes,” he said, from a throat tight with desire.

D’Artagnan went behind him again, removing the condom and moving away, returning a few seconds later, his fingers cold and slick with lube. He rubbed them up and down Athos’s cleft. “Ready?”

“Yes. Please, Charles.”

D’Artagnan raised him onto his knees, then breached him, quickly adding another finger to the first and fucking him slowly with them. Athos moaned against Constance’s cunt as her husband prepared him, adding more lube, stretching and penetrating him. Athos moved back onto his fingers, trying to hurry him up, but d’Artagnan, so impetuous at work, had maddening patience in bed, and all Athos could do was let himself be fucked this way until d’Artagnan was good and ready.

And now he was. “Okay, Athos?”

“More than okay. Please?”

“God, don’t speak to me in that voice. I’ll come before I get inside you.”

Constance laughed at her husband, her body shaking deliciously under Athos’s lips.

D’Artagnan slid inside, and Athos attended again to Constance’s lushness, his tongue and fingers working her as insistently as d’Artagnan’s thick cock worked his arse. When Constance began to tug on Athos’s hair, he begged her to keep going. His nerves were afire, his senses filled with pain-pleasure, the scent and taste of her cunt, and d’Artagnan in him, until Athos was lost in sensations, barely noticing when d’Artagnan had come, until Constance pulsed against his tongue, and her hands gentled, signalling him to leave her now too-sensitive clit alone.

D’Artagnan pulled out carefully, then embraced Athos from behind. “Are you all right?”

“Mmmm.”

Constance giggled. “That’s a yes, Charles. Oh my God, that was almost too much.” She cupped Athos’s face and urged him to move up her body so she could kiss Athos on his lips, still soaked in her essence. “One night, I want to tie you up, make you service me then him, and then have Charles fuck up while you’re unable to move. How does that sound?”

“God,” Athos groaned against her mouth. “You'd kill me. But I’d die happy.”

“Is there anything you won’t do?”

“I...um...don’t like to top. Men. Or dominate anyone.”

“That’s all right, love. I think Charles gets off on making people do what he says. So do I sometimes.”

Athos hugged her. “Where have you been, darling? Where have you both been?”

“Waiting for you, obviously. Do you want a quick shower with me?”

He had a lovely squirmy-touchy wash with Constance, then d’Artagnan joined them. Athos finally had a chance to put his hands all over the man. Unsurprisingly, d’Artagnan was ticklish.

“Tell anyone and you _die_.”

“Why would I tell someone that when I can exploit it nicely myself?” Athos said, though he left d’Artagnan’s flanks alone so he could kiss him while the water poured down over both of them, and Constance watched from behind d’Artagnan’s head.

Towelling off a ticklish partner was fun though.

Athos slept against d’Artagnan’s back, as d’Artagnan curled around Constance. “Better end to a shitty week,” d’Artagnan murmured.

“Make the most of it, _mes petites_. I’m afraid we have much worse to come,” Athos said. “Anyone who wants to bail is not being a coward. They’re being sensible.”

Constance rolled over so she could look at Athos as well as d’Artagnan. “Going nowhere, Captain de la Fère, for Sylvie’s sake as much as yours.”

“You always were the bravest woman I’d ever met.”

“She is,” d’Artagnan said. “And, what she said. Stop trying to drive us away. Won’t work.”

“As you wish. Good night, my loves.”

**********

Athos picked up Treville from his house to take him to meet Sylvie. His boss was in a sour mood. “If there’s a less pleasant way to spend a lovely Sunday morning in early summer than to meet a terrified woman and talk about abused children, I’ve no idea what it could be.”

“Sorry, sir.”

“Not your fault. It might be more comfortable to be ignorant, but not at the price of the lives of the weakest in society.”

Athos had abided by all Ninon’s requests, and Treville had also left his phone behind. Athos still couldn’t help wondering if he was being tracked—he’d even checked his car for devices before setting out. Someone truly determined to find him, who had access to the motorway cameras, could do so eventually. Their only hope was that so far as they knew, the people involved had no idea what Athos knew.

“Sir, d’Artagnan and I both wondered how my wife could have been set up to look like Thomas’s killer.”

“Yes.”

Athos glanced at him. “Sir?”

“Best I don’t comment at this stage, Athos. This business has been making my heartburn worse.”

Athos refrained from apologising again. Treville was a grown man, and knew what he was getting into.

The campus wasn’t deserted, but quiet compared to its weekday population. Athos parked behind [Le Luminyen](https://www.google.com.au/maps/place/Le+Luminyen/@43.2313743,5.4361982,3a,75y,43.41h,74.12t/data=!3m7!1e1!3m5!1swGNFb6KeiDVeiy9CrKBRrg!2e0!6s%252F%252Fgeo3.ggpht.com%252Fcbk%253Fpanoid%253DwGNFb6KeiDVeiy9CrKBRrg%2526output%253Dthumbnail%2526cb_client%253D), and waited. Just after ten thirty, another car parked near them and Ninon left the car. Athos got out and waved quickly. His phone rang. “Come towards me with your friend. We’ll talk in my car.”

She led Athos and Treville to the vehicle, and they climbed into the back seat. In the front passenger seat, sat a woman wearing a niqab. “Not here,” Ninon said before Athos could ask if this was Sylvie. Ninon drove them away from the campus, and parked off the road in a quiet lay-by.

The woman in the front pulled off the niqab and turned to them. “I’m Sylvie Martineau, gentlemen. Sorry for the spy games, but you understand the necessity.”

“I’m Athos de la Fère, and this is Commandant Jean Treville, my boss at the Marseille commissariat. I’ve known him my entire career, and you can trust him.”

“I hope so,” Sylvie said. Lines around her mouth and eyes made her look exhausted. Athos sensed she was sick to death of hiding. “So, ask me what you wish to know.”

“Start at the beginning,” Treville said. “What is going on?”

“A year ago, one of our clients at the legal centre told me of a friend of hers who had given up her baby for cash while in a Calais refugee camp. She said she knew of two other women who’d done the same thing. Then I heard from a mother who had been approached in Marseille itself. In exchange for giving up her baby, her husband and two children would receive French citizenship and passports. She accepted the offer. She now bitterly regrets the decision, but the passports and citizenships were delivered as promised. I used my contacts throughout France, and was able to put together a list of names of thirty babies, none more than a year old, given up by an asylum-seeking mother for either cash or passports and citizenships for relatives, and the dates they were taken. I have names of police officers and officials from three regions known to have made these offers or accompanied those who did. They’re quite brazen about it. They know the women have no power to accuse them, and any threat to do so would mean their families will be deported.”

“Bloody hell,” Athos said. “So why Thomas?”

She looked at him sadly. “I’m so sorry about him. Back when we were students, Thomas and I worked in a refugee legal centre as volunteers for a while, as did Catherine, and he’d always had a keen interest in their welfare. I thought, being in Montpellier, he’d be safe from the corrupt officers in Marseille commissariat and in Paris. He was helping me put a case together to take to a judge, but he must had triggered someone’s suspicions. When he died, I knew he’d been murdered, and not by Anne. She was helping him, and me.”

“Anne was?”

Sylvie bit her lip. “Her background was not...perfect. She knew what it was like to be forced to do something against one’s soul, to protect one’s self, or that of a loved one.”

“I wish they had come to me. Or that you had.”

“Athos, we didn’t know if you were friendly with anyone involved in this. Thomas said you had friends in Marseille. I guess he meant you, commandant. They were trying to keep you safe.”

“And got themselves killed, as well as Catherine.”

She flinched at Athos’s anger. “I’m sorry.”

“Athos, go for a walk. I’ll handle this.”

Athos left the car, and stomped off, furious and sad and wondering why his brother and his wife thought he was incapable of caring enough for them to keep their secrets. Was it because of their affair? And had that started as a result of keeping the other secret from him?

He stared at the trees and bushes without seeing them, unaware of how much time had passed until Ninon texted to say they were done. He walked back to the car and climbed in. “My apologies for the loss of temper,” he said stiffly.

“No, I’m sorry,” Sylvie said quickly. “You have every right to be angry. None of us had any idea...if we did, of course, we would have been more careful. We were as careful as we could. Just not enough.”

Athos nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

“I need to go over all this, think about it. Are you safe where you are, Sylvie?” Treville asked.

“Yes. All the information I have is in the hands of a reporter friend of mine. I have told him nothing, the envelope is sealed, but if I die, or my mother does, he will open the envelope and do as much damage as possible. I told Lucien Grimaud that when he came around to try and frighten me. He did frighten me, but my threat worked. It was Ninon’s idea,” she said, giving Ninon a fond smile.

“Why didn’t you mention you two were lovers?” Athos said to Ninon.

“Who...how did you know?” Ninon said, turning to glare at him.

“I know the look,” he said simply. “But no one else knows?”

“No, I’m sure of that,” Sylvie said. “My mother...would not approve, so I’ve never told her. Ironically, that’s worked out for the best now.”

“Good,” Treville said. “Go home, stay out of sight, do what you’re doing now. Athos will be in touch when we have a plan. I warn you, this may not work out the way you hope.”

“I just want it over,” Sylvie said. “I want these people to stop taking babies, I want to live in the open again. While I hide, the children suffer.”

“You’re sure they’re being taken to be abused?” Athos asked.

“No. Perhaps not all are. But some, for certain. I fear we may never find them again. All I hope is to save those who might be taken in the future.”


	4. Chapter 4

Athos waited for Ninon’s car to leave before making a move to do so himself. “Did she give you the names you need, sir?”

“Yes. I also looked up the name of the officer who led the SWAT team at your house. His name is Dujon—and he’s Grimaud’s brother-in-law. Marcheaux must be in on it because he allocated Grimaud to the investigation. Marcheaux and Dujon may not be directly involved with the baby trafficking, but Grimaud has to be. The main figure at Marseille, she says, is Commandant Gaudet.”

“Gaudet? Fuck.”

“Yes. But she can’t know everyone involved. One thing is for sure—there are several departments and branches of government involved, if they’re handing out passports and citizenships. They’re making big money too—the cash on offer for each child was over fifteen thousand euros. I doubt someone just looking to adopt a child would pay that kind of money, but a paedophile ring would, and more.”

“I want to throw up,” Athos said.

“You’ll have to get in line.” Treville stared out through the window. “I know a magistrate, Judge Bellavoix, whom I trust completely. If we can get him to take this on, perhaps with Sylvie’s reporter friend, we might be able to expose what’s happening.”

“A good friend of my father’s, Etiènne Bertrand, works in the prime minister’s office, quite high up. He would help, I’m certain. Catherine’s parents too. She’s a magistrate and he’s a senior lawyer.”

“This is all helpful, but how do we get evidence that doesn’t rely on persuading frightened women to talk to government officials?”

Athos had a horrible thought. Treville saw his expression change. “Out with it, Athos.”

“How do you catch rats? With bait. How do you catch those chasing Sylvie?”

Treville drew in a breath. “We can’t do that.”

“No, we can’t.”

But as his boss looked at him, Athos saw him come to the same realisation. “We can’t, but we have to. Don’t we?”

“Perhaps. Give me a couple of days, Athos. How discreetly can you contact Bertrand?”

“Very. I might need to take some time off to go to Paris to talk to him though.”

“Okay, if necessary, I’ll sign off on leave for that.”

“Catherine’s parents are there too. Judge Bellavoix?”

“Is here. Okay. Let’s go back. I’ll speak to Aramis. I wish d’Artagnan and Constance weren’t involved.”

Athos sighed. “Me too. They have repeatedly rejected my attempts to persuade them to stay out of it. I suspect we’ll need them, sir.”

“I hope not, but you may be right. Let’s go.”

Depressed by what he had learned today, Athos returned to St Jérôme with the weight of the world on his shoulders. He went outside with the intention of seeking out his friends and lovers for comfort, but found a sight which did his heart good—d’Artagnan and Constance in the pool, naked.

“Come and join us, love,” Constance called. Athos needed no more invitation, stripping off and diving in. The water was a little too cool, but the company more than made up for it. He let them pamper him with kisses and cuddles and lots of whole body contact.

“Constance, we really need to work how to install a Jacuzzi,” d’Artagnan said after they’d left the water to towel off, and a breeze had picked up, making too chilly to stay out until they dressed again. Constance insisted they went upstairs and had coffee before d’Artagnan made lunch.

“It’d cost a fortune,” she said, mouth turning down.

“I’d pay,” Athos said. They looked at him. “Um, I’m well off. Rather ridiculously so.”

“We can’t let you spend money on this place,” Constance said.

“And why not? I’d benefit too.”

“We’ll talk about this later, love,” she said. “Feeling better?”

“Yes. It’s all horrible though. Can we talk about it later?”

“Yes, of course.”

She made him lie down on the couch with his head in her lap so she could play with his hair and give him a head massage. He closed his eyes, trying not to remember Anne doing this for him, but failing. He sat up, brushing her hands away.

“My love, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I...just need a shower.” He bolted downstairs and hid in the bathroom. He sat on the toilet seat, his face in his hands, his chest so tight he could barely breathe.

_Anne. I’m sorry._

He should have been there for her, and for Thomas. She was his wife, and he loved her, and he had lost her, all for the sake of a single conversation she didn’t feel safe enough to have with him. And now he had found love again, only to put these two beautiful people in danger himself.

He hunched over himself until he could bear the pain no longer. He slammed the bathroom door open, intending to go out to buy some vodka—but found d’Artagnan sitting on the bed. “I have to go out,” he rasped.

He tried to push past d’Artagnan but his partner seized his shoulders, and pulled him into a hug, rocking him. Athos clung to him, still fighting the need to drink, to cry, to rage, without hurting his lovers. “Athos, it’s okay. It’s okay.”

“She’s dead and it’s not okay. It never will be. I loved her, Charles.”

His knees gave out, and d’Artagnan carried him down to the floor, sitting with Athos still in his arms. “I know,” he said, rubbing his back.

“How the hell would you know?”

“I lost my Dad when I was a teenager, remember? Car accident, drunk driver. I couldn’t get over it. Still not over it now.”

“If Constance died. If she was murdered. How would you bear it?”

“I wouldn’t. I’d kill myself probably.”

“I wanted to. I told myself it was my duty to carry on. For Thomas’s memory, I had to keep going. Now I find they died for _me_!” Athos struck his chest. “They died to protect me.”

D’Artagnan patted him and caressed him, but didn’t try to talk him out of it. “Come and lie down, Athos.”

Athos wiped his eyes. “You should go upstairs. This isn’t anything to do with you.”

D’Artagnan shook him. “Hey. I love you. We both do. When one of us hurts, the others want to help. We want to help you. Come and lie down.”

D’Artagnan would not be dissuaded, so Athos obeyed, lying on his back, while d’Artagnan clung to his side, his hand over Athos’s heart. “Your pulse is racing like a Ferrari. What happened this morning?”

“Sylvie...she said Thomas and Anne didn’t tell me what they were doing, because they wanted to protect me. But if they’d told me, I could have helped them. They wouldn’t have died.”

“Or you’d be dead too. Athos, you don’t know you could have made the smallest difference.”

“I don’t know that I wouldn’t. To lose one was awful. But both of them, and now Catherine? All because they somehow thought I was more precious than them. I would have done anything to have saved them. Anything.” Tears leaked out from under his closed eyelids. He dashed them away with a muttered, “Shit.”

D’Artagnan said nothing, and only held him, stroking his chest. Gradually Athos calmed, the anger and misery replaced by a burning sense of embarrassment. He wiped his eyes again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset Constance.”

“It’s okay. She understands it’s not her.”

“When she played with my hair...Anne would do that.”

“Ah. That must really hurt.”

“No, it was lovely...bittersweet.” He struggled to a sitting position. “I should explain. This is no way for a grown man to behave.”

D’Artagnan sat up next to him, his arm around Athos’s shoulder. “Tell me, when will I be too old to mourn the love of my life, should she die? When should I stop crying for my father? Is there an age limit on grief, and tears, and memories?”

Athos buried his face in d’Artagnan’s shoulder. “There isn’t one. I just...should set an example.”

“At work, love. Not in our home. Here we’re equals, yes?”

“No. I am your slave, your devoted slave. I could never be the equal of you both.”

D’Artagnan laughed, petting Athos’s head. “Well, if you want that, Athos, I have no objections. But I insist our kept man doesn’t hide his feelings or try to tell himself it’s wrong to feel pain or sorrow. Constance would kick me out if I tried pulling that shit.”

Athos smiled despite his misery. “You’re much better than booze, Charles.”

“Thanks, I think. But maybe you’d like a glass of something anyway. How about a cup of hot spiced wine instead? That helps me when I’m down.”

Athos nodded, and let d’Artagnan chivvy him upstairs, where a clearly worried Constance took him into his arms. “I’m sorry, my darling,” he murmured. “It was nothing you did.”

“It’s okay.”

“I’m going to make spiced wine,” d’Artagnan announced. “And we can eat.”

Constance held Athos’s hand as they sat together. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.

“No. But I’ll tell you what Sylvie told us, which might explain it a bit.”

He went through what she had said, including what he already told d’Artagnan. And then he told her about the ghastly plan they hoped they wouldn’t need. She went silent at that, and Athos cursed himself for bringing up an idea to put a woman in harm’s way to another with a history of being abused.

“If we put her in a safe house, rigged with recording equipment and with some of us watching from inside, and let it slip where she’s hiding, I bet Feron would fall for it.”

D’Artagnan came around the counter to stare at his wife. Athos blinked in shock. “You think this is a good idea?”

“It’s a _dreadful_ idea. But it might work anyway. How do we get them to admit what they’re up to?”

**********

Athos hated everything about the plan—the fact it meant endangering an innocent civilian, that they had to hope tricking a magistrate worked, and that it could all end with a bunch of dead cops with nothing gained.

He especially hated that in a week of discussing, thinking, and worrying, none of them, including Aramis and Porthos, had come up with anything more likely to work. He wished Sylvie had hated the idea too much to agree to it. Sadly she was a brave woman willing to risk all to expose this evil.

“I’d do the same,” Constance said. “In her position, I mean.”

“I’d do my best to stop you cooperating with me,” Athos said. “And so would Charles.”

“Chance would be a fine thing,” she snapped. “I outrank him, and you’re not the boss of me, Athos.”

Athos wrapped his arms around her, and d’Artagnan did the same. “I am your devoted slave, and he's your adoring spouse. We can’t bear the idea of losing you, for whatever reason.”

Which made the fact that it made sense for Constance to be one of two visible guards at the ‘safe’ house, even more painful.

Aramis and Porthos came to visit, staying with Treville, so the plan could be refined. Athos had desperately wanted to see them again, but not like this. After that weekend, Treville gave the plan the go ahead.

A farmhouse past Plan de Campagne had been rented in Athos’s name, and d’Artagnan and Constance had spent two days rigging it up with microphones and hidden cameras. The loft had been turned into a hideout for d’Artagnan to use while Athos and Constance stayed downstairs with Sylvie. Treville and Porthos would take up positions outside the building on a hillside where approaching traffic could be seen and they could keep an eye on anyone entering or leaving the building. Magistrate Bellavoix was primed to receive whatever evidence they garnered, and had already accepted Sylvie’s documentation. And Sylvie’s mother had been taken to a true safe house by Ninon, location unknown to any of them, even Sylvie.

When they were set to go, Aramis triggered the plan. He took a copy of Catherine’s letter to Judge Feron, saying that Athos sent to him but only after had been searching for Sylvie. Athos had finally persuaded her to give her evidence to Feron if he would come to meet her in secret where Athos had her stashed. Constance was there because Sylvie had insisted on a chaperone. Feron agreed, and Aramis drove him to the farmhouse that Wednesday morning.

Five minutes before the scheduled meeting, Porthos called Athos on the radio. “Another vehicle approaching ahead of Aramis’s car. Two male passengers. They’re parking under the bushes about three hundred metres south of you.”

Athos touched his earpiece. “Understood.”

D’Artagnan moved up to the loft where he could observe via camera without being seen. Sylvie sat still, with Constance’s arm around her. Athos took up position with a rifle, since a guard was expected.

Aramis parked close to the house, and helped Judge Feron, who was disabled and walked with two crutches, from the car. Athos opened the door. “Welcome, _monsieur le juge._ ”

“Captain. I can’t say I’m very happy with you, concealing evidence,” he said querulously. Aramis helped him to a chair, and only then did Feron acknowledge the two women in the room. “Mademoiselle Martineau? And Captain Bonacieux, I presume.”

“Yes, _monsieur le juge_ ,” Constance said.

“Now, what do you have for me, Mademoiselle Martineau?”

Obviously afraid, Sylvie spoke quietly, telling the magistrate what she’d told Athos and Treville that Sunday morning. Athos listened with only half an ear. The rest of his attention was on the two men creeping towards the house, unseen but for the observers high on the hill. Porthos was logging their progress over the radio link.

“Coming to the back of the house now,” Porthos warned. Athos carefully did not react, although he did stand up casually, as if stretching his legs.

“Now,” Porthos said.

The back door was kicked in. Constance pulled Sylvie down behind the sofa, and Aramis dropped behind Judge Feron. Athos aimed at the living room door, and shot the first person who came through it. The second ducked and fired at Athos, but missed. D’Artagnan dropped down from the loft hatch and kicked the guy in the head, knocking him to the ground.

“Is everyone all right?” Athos shouted.

“We’re fine,” Constance said, though she kept Sylvie down behind the sofa.

“What on earth is going on?” Judge Feron demanded.

“We thought you might tell us,” Aramis said, moving to stand beside the magistrate. “Since you seem to be up in this to your neck.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Feron, sniffing, fumbled in his coat for a handkerchief. “For God’s sake, let me have a tissue.”

Aramis reached into his pocket, then jerked back. Feron held a pistol on him. Athos straightened up. _Shit_. “There’s no need for that, Feron.”

“I disagree,” Feron said, his hand steady. “Now, the rest of you, move over there, or I’ll shoot this young man quite dead.”

D’Artagnan looked at Athos, who nodded. “You will leave your weapons there,” Feron said. “Move now, please. You too, _mesdames_.”

As Athos obeyed, Porthos spoke into his ear piece. “Incoming. One vehicle, two people.”

The man d’Artagnan had kicked now climbed to his feet, picking up Athos’s rifle. “How are you going to make this look like a murder suicide?” Athos asked. “You can’t frame my wife this time.”

“The grieving husband loses it and goes on a murder spree. It’s amazing what you can establish with a cooperative magistrate.”

“Leave him, Dujon,” Feron said. “Grimaud and Marcheaux will be here soon. Just finish them off. You, d’Herblay, move.”

Aramis looked as if he was about to obey, then pivoted swiftly on one heel and kicked Feron’s hand. The pistol went off, and Aramis grabbed it. “Drop it,” he said to Dujon.

Dujon obeyed, putting the rifle down. Athos moved to collect it, but before he reached it, Dujon kicked it near to where his dead friend lay. Who wasn’t dead, unfortunately. The ‘corpse’ grabbed the rifle and fired it at Aramis, who fell to the floor.

“Aramis!”

Athos went to run to his friend but the man with the rifle aimed it at him. “Stand down, de la Fère.”

“Just shoot him,” Feron snapped.

The guy raised the rifle, but as his finger tightened, he suddenly startled, sending the shot wide. Athos leapt for him, and grabbed the rifle out of his hands, swinging the butt hard into the side of his face, and knocking him down. Athos pointed the rifle at Dujon. “On your knees, now!”

D’Artagnan dove for his own gun, and Constance grabbed Sylvie, running with her to the bedroom where she could barricade them inside the bedroom until Treville and Porthos came to help. They reached safety just as the front door was blasted open by gunfire. D’Artagnan and Athos fired simultaneously, shooting Grimaud and Marcheaux as they charged into the room.

Then everything went quiet. “Cuff them,” Athos said, throwing d’Artagnan his own handcuffs, before running to Aramis’s side and dropping to his knees. “And check the bloody judge for another weapon.”

He looked down at their fallen comrade. “Aramis.” The bullet had hit Aramis’s upper chest where the vest still covered him. “Come on, my friend, wake up.” Aramis had hit his head when he fell. Had he hit it fatally?

Aramis groaned, his hand over the hole in his jacket. “Fucking shit bastard arse.”

Athos grinned and helped him sit. “Language, _mon ami_. Also, how many fingers?”

“Two. Which is the number I wish to show to _monsieur le juge_ for that little trick.” He rubbed the back of his head. “Ow.”

Athos used the radio. “Treville, we have injured.”

“Any of ours?”

“Aramis has a possible concussion.” He looked at d’Artagnan who had raised the newest attackers to a sitting position. Both were alive, though groaning like Aramis had. “No gunshot wounds. I suspect Judge Feron has a serious case of butt hurt,” he said, and Treville barked out a laugh. Feron, nose in the air, pretended he hadn’t heard any of it. “Constance, all clear.”

He personally checked the bonds on their attackers, and that Feron was also under control. Aramis stayed down, propped up against a wall. Athos wanted his friend checked at a hospital no matter how many fingers he could see.

Constance brought Sylvie back into the living room. “Is it over?” Sylvie asked.

“Nearly, my dear,” Athos said.

Porthos barrelled in through the front door. “Aramis!” He dropped to his lover’s side and took him into his arms. Treville walked in at a more sedate pace, examined the scene, then looked at Athos. “Good job.”

“Not over yet,” Athos said, nodding at their captives, and at Feron.

“The cavalry is coming,” Treville said. "I hope you like prison from the other side of the bars, _monsieur le juge._ ”

“Do you really think you can make this stick?” Feron said, his lips curled in a sneer. “My father will have me released in twenty-four hours. Then it will be the word of officers who have concealed evidence from me, against that of these fine men, all of whom have impeccable records. And then, commandant, your lives will be very short and very painful. Not to mention the fact that Mademoiselle Martineau’s dear mother and Mademoiselle Martineau herself will, alas, disappear in a tragic accident.”

“I’m terrified,” Treville said, sounding bored. The sound of sirens grew louder. “Ah, here’s your ride, _monsieur_.”

Three vehicles pulled up outside, and though Athos knew it was the support they had arranged, he couldn’t help keep a grip on his rifle, ready to shoot anyone who came in with a weapon pointed at any of his friends.

But he had no need of his rifle. The first two police inside had their guns raised, but at a signal from Treville, lowered them. The third person into the room was a civilian. “Gentlemen, ladies, this is Magistrate Bellavoix,” Treville said. “Perhaps you would like to repeat what you just said, Monsieur Feron.”

Feron’s lips stayed firmly shut.

“Did you collect what you expected, commandant?” Bellavoix asked.

“I believe we did. Lieutenant?”

D’Artagnan pulled the loft ladder down, and climbed up. Paramedics came to the door and asked who was injured. Porthos insisted they look at Aramis first.

Athos sidled over to Constance and Sylvie. “We’ll be getting you out soon, Sylvie. Just let us remove the trash.”

“Thank you,” Sylvie said.

D’Artagnan returned. “We have our own copies too,” he said, handing over a hard drive to Bellavoix. Colour drained from Feron’s face as he realised what the drive must contain.

“I must say, _monsieur le juge,_ it was extremely kind of you to describe your intentions so concisely,” Athos said, bowing with exaggerated politeness.

“Prosecution will be a snap,” d’Artagnan added, giving the judge a cocky grin.

The newly arrived police officers took Dujon, Grimaud and Marcheaux with them in their vehicle. The unnamed man Athos had hit with the rifle had a suspected broken jaw so, along with Aramis, was to be transported to hospital. Porthos went with them to stand guard.

That left Athos, d’Artagnan and Treville with Constance and Sylvie. “Athos, I think you should reunite this splendid young woman with her mother,” Treville said, smiling at Sylvie.

“It will be a honour and a pleasure,” Athos said.

“I’ll ride with you,” Constance said. “Charles, you should collect the recordings and equipment. Boss, could you give Charles a lift back home?”

“Yes, of course. Good work, all of you.”

“Sir, is there anything in what Feron said?” D’Artagnan asked.

“There isn’t now,” Athos said. “My father’s friend, Bertrand, has already briefed the prime minister, and Catherine’s parents are ready to make a statement to the press introducing Sylvie’s evidence as soon as they received the go ahead. Even if Feron avoids prison time, his career and reputation are finished. And so are those of many other people.”

“And the children?” Sylvie asked. “Is there any hope for them to be returned?”

Treville stroked his beard. “We’ll do our best. No promises, but...we hope some at least will be.”

Constance hugged Sylvie. “Come on, pet. Time to get you home.”

**********

Athos drove Sylvie to the arranged drop off with Ninon. The two women embraced and cried for a good while. Finally Ninon turned to Athos and Constance. “Thank you.”

“No, she’s the one we’re grateful to. You have my personal and undying gratitude, Sylvie. And you, Ninon. If there’s anything I can ever do for you, please ask.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Athos. Come, my love. Your mother is worried sick.”

Athos and Constance watched them drive off. “Will they be safe, do you think?” Constance asked.

“Once the other arrests start, and the press get hold of it, then killing Sylvie would achieve nothing but additional charges. I believe she’ll be fine.”

“And now, your wife’s reputation can be restored. She was innocent.”

“Yes. More than that, she’s a hero in her own right. She saved my life back there.”

Constance frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“When that guy had his gun aimed at my head. He jumped, so the shot went wide. It was Anne. I saw her. She was right in his face and I saw him see her. I don’t know how she managed it, but she did.” _Thank you, my love._

“Then she has my eternal gratitude, wherever she is now. At peace, I hope.”

“Yes, me too.” Athos started the engine. “Do you mind if we go via the hospital?”

“Of course not.”

They found Porthos, who was waiting outside their prisoner’s cubicle for Aramis to return from having his shoulder x-rayed. “No head injury, thank fuck,” he reported. “They think it’s just bad bruising on his shoulder but they want to be sure.”

“And the guy with a broken jaw?”

Porthos jerked his thumb back at the cubicle behind him. “Louis Beaufort, from Marseille. He ain’t talking.” He chuckled. Athos rolled his eyes. “I called Treville. We’re gonna need more officers up here to guard him. Treville’s sending people he knows. Sucks we can’t trust just anyone to do that.”

“Yes, it does. Will you stay in Marseille a few days?”

“Sure. Treville says we’re all on administrative leave at least until the end of next week, and until this shit gets sorted out. Suits me fine. Stay out of the way while the rats are stomped on from on high.”

While they waited for their battered friend to return, Athos called Catherine’s mother to tell her that the takedown had begun, and that there would be justice for her daughter. He could only wait while she cried, though Constance held his hand. Athos wiped his eyes when the call was over.

Porthos put a hand on Athos’s shoulder. “There will be justice for them all,” he said.

“Unfortunately, justice for the dead still means they’re dead. I suppose I should be grateful my own parents passed away before Thomas died. All this would have killed them.”

He took a couple of minutes to recover his composure, then called Etiènne Bertrand to deliver the same news. “It’s already kicking into gear,” Athos reported to his companions after he finished the conversation. “And he says we need to keep our heads down and stay away from the press.”

“I wasn’t planning to do anything else,” Constance said. “God, what’s it going to be like at work after all this?”

“Insane. But me and Aramis are coming down to help, Constance. The last thing Marcheaux did before he left work yesterday was to approve our transfers to Marseille.”

“Oh!” She stood and went to Porthos to hug him. The big guy grinned over her shoulder at Athos. Athos grinned back. Amongst so much crap, this was unalloyed good news.

When she sat down again, Porthos turned to Athos. “Treville’s going to put us up for a bit until we find a place. Marseille is a bit pricey.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Athos said. “Constance, do you suppose Charles would be able to lay on a late lunch for us at your house, if I drag these two miscreants back?”

“I insist on it,” she said. “And Porthos, if you and Aramis are spending a couple more days down here, Athos can share our bed, if you want to sleep in his.”

Porthos coughed. “If that’s okay with you, Athos.”

Athos kissed Constance’s cheek. “Completely. All my lovers under the one roof? How could I object to that?”

Two uniformed officers walked over, headed for Porthos. He spoke to them aside about the prisoner and they took over guard duties. “I’m free to go when Aramis is ready,” Porthos told Athos and Constance when he’d finished.

A few moments later, Aramis himself walked in, his arm in a sling. “Hey, three of my favourite people waiting for me.” He accepted kisses from Athos and Porthos, and a careful hug from Constance.

“How’s the shoulder?” Athos asked.

“Bruising, swelling, but no nerve or tendon damage. Rest and pain relief, that’s all. How’s Sylvie?”

“In good hands,” Athos said. “We're all going back to Constance’s.”

“Music to my ears,” Aramis said. “I hope someone is going to be opening beers soon because, my friends, we all need a damn drink.”

“Glad you said that, so I didn’t have to,” Athos muttered, earning an affectionate cuff to his head from Porthos.

A detour via Treville’s place found their captain out, so Porthos collected his and Aramis’s bags. “I’ll text him,” he said after he put the bags in Athos’s car and climbed back in. “I don’t think he likes guests.”

“He does, but he refuses to admit it,” Athos said. “He’s been like that his wife died, I think. Once you lads move down here, we’ll have to shake up his life a bit.”

“Give the poor man a break,” Constance said. “His life is going to be shaken up enough without your help.”

“Yeah, but not in a fun way. We’d make it good for him.”

“The way you did for me?” Athos asked innocently. Aramis hurt himself laughing. Constance covered her mouth with a hand but every so often, a little chortle escaped.

D’Artagnan had made what he had described as his own personal comfort food—pasta puttanesca—which was incidentally the easiest meal to scale up for extra visitors. He’d also opened a couple of bottles of red wine in anticipation of their arrival, and decreed that they would all eat on the terrace. Athos and Porthos manhandled an armchair outside for Aramis to lounge in, and Porthos grabbed a chair for himself to sit next to his injured lover.

D’Artagnan stood and raised a glass. “To justice,” he said.

“To justice,” the rest of them replied.

Then the serious task of eating and drinking and celebrating could begin. “I feel like I’m skiving, doing this in the middle of the week,” Constance said after she’d polished off a huge bowl of food. None of them had been able to eat much breakfast.

“We are, but we earned it,” d’Artagnan said.

“Quite,” Athos agreed.

“Gives us some time to look for a place to live,” Porthos said. “Somewhere with room for a big bed.”

Athos flushed under Porthos’s sly look. “I guess that’s my cue to make an announcement.” He stood.

“You’re not moving out. You’re not, right?” Constance said, clutching at his arm.

“No, love, I am not. But I _am_ giving you the proceeds from the sale of Thomas and Catherine’s apartment so you can pay off your mortgage, and I’ll use my own money to help you make any renovations and additions you want. Including that jacuzzi.”

“Nice,” Porthos said. Aramis nodded.

“No! Athos, it’s too much—”

Athos held up his hand to stop Constance. “No, listen to me. All of you. As you know, my parents died several years ago, leaving Thomas and me their entire estate, and now I have most of what Thomas received through Catherine. I am, through nothing I have done to deserve it except be born, too well off for my own good, and Catherine’s will has only added to an embarrassing overabundance. So take the money, Constance and Charles, because that still leaves me with more money than I know what to do with. And you two,” he turned to Porthos and Aramis, “are going to have the money from the sale of my old house, which my agent has just accepted an offer for, and buy something in Marseille suitable for yourselves and the occasional overnight guest. Or guests, as you choose.”

He sat back down, and watched his friends gape in amazement. “ _Chéri_ ,” Aramis said at last. “If you are sure—”

“I am. Completely.”

“Then we accept your generosity with gratitude and love.”

Athos smiled, then went over and accepted a one-armed hug from Aramis, and a full-bodied one from Porthos. “You know I still love you both, right?”

“As we do you, Athos _querido_. But, ah...perhaps your new lovers should have a say.”

Athos stood up and turned to Constance and d’Artagnan. “What do you think?”

“I think you’re crazy, and possibly the most generous man in the world,” she said.

“I _meant_ about sharing me from time to time with these two reprobates.”

D’Artagnan looked puzzled. “Why would we mind? You loved them first.”

Athos knelt down in front of him and Constance. “Yes, but...we have a slightly different relationship, you and I. If you don’t want me to spend time with anyone else, you and no one else has the right to ask it of me.”

Constance touched his cheek. “No one has that right, love. All I ask if that if you go play with anyone, that they must cherish and respect you as we do. And I already know they do.”

“Yeah. I find out you’re sleeping with someone who hurts you, they’re going to be picking up their teeth from the gutter. And _you_ will be getting a talking to.” D’Artagnan stroked Athos’s hair. “These men are your brothers and your lovers. I trust them as I trust you.”

Athos laid his head on d’Artagnan’s knee. “Thank you. Thank you both.”

Aramis cleared his throat dramatically. “Any more wine, Charles? I find myself overcome with emotion.”

“Coming,” d’Artagnan said.

“He will be,” Athos murmured, making d’Artagnan and Constance grin. He got to his feet. “Now, are we all in agreement about who I may sleep with?”

“Yes,” the others said as one.

“The only thing we need is a scheduling app to keep it all clear,” d’Artagnan said. “Or am I missing something else?”

“Matching tattoos, a leash, handcuffs, a gold-plated buttplug, engraved cockrings....”

“Porthos, could you...?” Porthos clamped a hand over Aramis’s filthy and broadly grinning mouth. “Thank you,” Athos said, saluting his friend with his glass.

“He has a point, though,” Constance said in a stage whisper.

“Constance, it was supposed to be a surprise,” d’Artagnan answered behind his hand. Porthos cackled, and Aramis, freed from his big hand, laughed until he had to clutch at his shoulder in pain.

D’Artagnan regarded them all serenely. “You know, I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship.”

“Quite the spin on ‘all for one, one for all’, isn’t it,” Athos said.

“Yes, it does. How did you manage to arrange things so nicely for yourself?” Constance asked.

“Our Athos has always had more capacity for love and joy than anyone could ever provide on their own,” Aramis said. “I think finally, between the four of us, he might just about manage to be satisfied.”

Athos smiled at them all. “Yes, I think I might.” He could begrudge the price paid to bring him to this point, and he did, bitterly, but he would make his family’s sacrifices worth something, in the end. “Success is the best revenge.”

“Then, to success,” Aramis said, raising his wineglass.

“To love,” Constance amended. “In all its forms.”

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know if I'll write more in this series - I'm definitely thinking about that suggestion Constance made. However, I hope you enjoy this one, and as always, comments, criticisms, and corrections are craved!


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